


Mine to Make

by torestoreamends



Category: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Adult Albus and Scorpius, Adventure, Angst, Cursed Child Never Happens AU, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Next Generation, M/M, Post-Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 19:28:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 240,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19837003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torestoreamends/pseuds/torestoreamends
Summary: On his seventeenth birthday, Albus runs away. Years of arguing with his dad and struggling at school have worn him down, and he just wants to be free. With Delphi's mantra 'the future is mine to make' echoing in his head, he sets out to change his life, leaving everything and everyone behind.Years later, an accidental meeting with Scorpius forces him to question the new life he's built for himself. Is his life complete without his family? Was he wrong to leave Scorpius behind? Is he really any happier now than he would have been if he'd stayed? And does he truly know Delphi, the person who convinced him to walk away?





	1. Flight

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of the first fic ideas I had when I joined this fandom, way back in the summer of 2016. It's taken three years to get to the point of finishing it, but here we are!  
> The biggest champion of this one has to be Eldabe, who has long encouraged the concept of hot older Albus with his tattoos and leather jackets. I also have to thank my indefatigable beta, Dr Abradystrix, who helped edit this monster, even amidst moving to the other side of the world.

> _I'm coming home, I'm coming home,_
> 
> _Tell the world I'm coming home,_
> 
> _Let the rain wash away,_
> 
> _All the pain of yesterday._
> 
> _I know my kingdom awaits,_
> 
> _And they've forgiven my mistakes._
> 
> _I'm coming home, I'm coming home,_
> 
> _Tell the world I'm coming..._

–Dirty Money

*

_Albus lies very still in the half-darkness and watches the seconds tick by on his Tempus Charm. Behind his hangings, the golden numerals make a very faint glow. They're barely bright enough for him to see, and no one else will know what he's doing, which is just the way he wants it._

_His mouth feels dry and his heart pounds in his chest. He's been waiting so long for this moment, counting down the months and weeks and days since the start of the year. He's had everything planned out, his bag is packed, he's determined – he’s even talked to Scorpius about what he's going to do, to make sure it isn’t a horrible surprise to him. But now that the moment is approaching (two minutes to go) he feels a bit sick._

_Can he really do this? Is it truly possible to change his life? He's always felt like he's teetering on the edge of being himself, with only his family; his dad; the past holding him back. If he can break free of all that then he can find out who he's meant to be, once and for all._

The future is mine to make _, he thinks, the comforting words drifting through his mind. He's been holding onto them since the summer, writing them in his books and notes, scrawling them on the back of his hand to glance at whenever he has a particularly difficult class, carving them into the desk when he gets upset and anxious. He needs those words, and he's finally about to take ownership of them._

_Thirty seconds to go._

_He sits up in bed as quietly as he can and listens. The dorm beyond his hangings is completely silent. It's midnight so everyone should be long asleep, and if anyone isn’t then they’re likely to be downstairs in the Common Room doing some last minute homework. He's safe. Hopefully._

_Ten seconds._

_His heart pounds, and he wonders if it's loud enough to wake up Scorpius, who's sleeping in the bed next to his._

_Five seconds._

_He reaches out for his hangings, ready to rip them back and make a break for freedom._

_Three seconds. Two. One._

_Midnight._

_Albus's hand shakes as he pulls the hangings aside. He dismisses the Tempus Charm and slides off his bed, landing on the floor with barely a creak._

_Being seventeen doesn't feel any different to being sixteen, nothing tangible has changed. Apart from the knowledge that now he’s no longer bound by the rules. He can do magic whenever and wherever he likes now. No one can find him when he runs now, no matter what he does. He's safe. He's free. He's_ free _._

_He tiptoes round the end of his bed to where his backpack is waiting. He's still fully dressed – it seemed stupid to run away in his pyjamas – but he pushes his feet into his shoes and picks his jacket up from where it's laid over his trunk, ready for him to put on._

_Zipping up the front of the jacket is the most heart stopping thing he's ever done in his life. Every tooth seems to make an awful noise, and he screws his whole body up tight and tense, hoping that might minimise the sound. In the end he just gives up and leaves it mostly unzipped. It's not too cold outside; it's been a warm March. He can do without._

_He picks his backpack up and swings it over his shoulder, then turns towards the door. That's when he spots the blond-haired figure sitting watching him, perched on the very edge of their bed, ghostly pale in the watery light flooding through the window, anxiously twisting their wand between their fingers._

_"Hi," Scorpius whispers._

_Albus swallows. He adjusts the backpack on his back, hiking it up higher, hoping it makes him look more determined. "Scorpius, I-"_

_"Happy birthday," Scorpius says, in a strained murmur._

_Albus lifts his chin and crosses his arms. "You knew I was going to do this. You know you can't stop me."_

_Scorpius gets to his feet. "Albus..." He draws his wand and gives it a flick to cast Lumos. White wandlight floods the room, making it suddenly very bright, shadows racing to hide in every corner like they're scared of being burned by the sudden glow. Albus screws his eyes up against how intense it is._

_"Albus," Scorpius says again. "You don't have to do this. I know it's bad but we can fix things. I don't know how but we'll find a way. That's what we do. We always find a way."_

_"Do we?" Albus asks. "Are you sure about that? Because it feels like we never-" His voice breaks, and he feels tears prickling his eyes. He swallows hard. "It feels like we never manage to do anything. It feels like we always fail. Like_ I _always fail." He raises a hand and ticks the failures off on his fingers. "I'm a terrible son, I'm rubbish at school, everyone hates me. You'll be better off without me, and I-" He takes a breath and looks at Scorpius. "I might be better off too."_

_Scorpius looks at him, mouth slightly open, like he's trying to work out what to say, like there are words trying to escape but all at once and he doesn't know which to start with. Finally he shakes his head. "Albus, I really think-"_

_"I have to do this, Scorpius," Albus says in a whisper that rises into hysteria. "You know I have to."_

_"But-"_

_Albus sniffs. The tears prickling his eyes are threatening to spill over but he can't look afraid now. He's not afraid. He's certain._

The future is mine to make.

_"I'm going," he says, pushing strength and confidence into his voice. "I'm going and no one is stopping me. It's the only way."_

_"Do you even know where you're going to go?" Scorpius asks, sounding forlorn and desperate. "You can't just run off without a plan."_

_"Yes," Albus says. "I know exactly where I'm going." There's a note tucked into his pocket telling him his destination. He's had it since the summer. On the worst days he's taken it out and looked at it. That address is hope, the only thing he’s had to hold on to._

_"Does anyone know where you're going?" Scorpius asks. "I’ve told you before that you should tell someone. You should tell me. What if something happens to you? What if you need help?"_

_"And I’ve told you before that I'm running away," Albus sighs. "The whole point of this is that no one knows where I'm going. It's a new start. And if something happens to me..." He doesn't want to say 'so what'. He does care about being safe. He doesn't want to die or anything. But at the same time... "I know where to find you," he says. "If I need you. I know where to find all of you."_

_"And what if-" Scorpius breaks off and folds his arms across his body. He shakes his head._

_"What if?"_

_"It doesn't matter," Scorpius murmurs. He wipes the sleeve of pyjama top across his nose and looks up at Albus. "I'm going to miss you," he says softly._

_Albus looks at him, at the way his eyes are glinting like stars in the wandlight, at the glow of his hair, at how pale and sad his expression is, glittering tears trailing down his cheeks. His beautiful best friend, the only good thing about his life, who he already misses so much that it aches. If anything were to stop him going it would be Scorpius, but he has to do this. Even Scorpius isn’t enough to make existence stop hurting._

_Albus steps across the space between them and puts a hand on Scorpius's arm. "I'll miss you too," he says, looking into Scorpius's eyes, which are swimming with tears. "I-I really will. More than-" He swallows. "More than anything."_

_He hesitates for a moment, an inch or two away from Scorpius, then he closes the final heartbeat between them and hugs Scorpius as hard as he can._

_He feels Scorpius's body shaking with sobs. There are tears dribbling down his own cheeks too, and he can feel his nose running. It's that that finally makes him pull away, so he can wipe his nose on his sleeve._

_"I have to go," he says, and it comes out broken and choked. "I'll see you."_

_"Will you?" Scorpius asks, in an equally small and fractured voice._

_Albus nods. "I promise." Then he turns and makes himself walk from the dorm, because if he doesn't do it now he never will._

_He pulls the Invisibility Cloak over him in the corridor outside and hugs it close to himself, bowing his head and trying to choke back his sobs so no one hears him as he winds his way through the Slytherin Common Room._

_But as much as it hurts, every single step makes him feel a bit lighter. The Common Room wall closes up behind him and he starts walking down the dark stone corridor towards the stairs. He walks up out of the shadowy dungeon into the Entrance Hall that's still brightly lit, even at night, torches burning on the walls, bathing everything in flickering golden light._

_The steps across the hall towards the door get easier and easier as he leaves everything behind. The arguments with his dad, the bullying, his family, his abysmal performance at school, the past. There is only the future now, and he can do with it whatever he wants. He can finally find out who he is, who he wants to be. He can be himself._

_The Entrance Hall doors slide smoothly open as he pushes them, not even giving a creak, and he slips through. Outside the air is fresh and cool and it smells so sweet – of early spring, and daffodils, and hope. A gentle breeze blows on his face. Overhead the clouds part, and a shaft of pale moonlight falls down onto his face, cutting a glowing white path across the sea of black grass, down the lawn, towards the forest, pointing to the boundary of the school._

_And as he starts down the steps he feels weightless. It's thirteen minutes past midnight, he's seventeen years old, and it's time for his future to begin._

A ball of Fiendfyre comes pelting out of the darkness and Albus dodges downwards so it just singes the ends of his hair. Below him the crowd roar their approval. It's an unseasonably cold night, but the Fiendfyre is white hot, and Albus can feel its scorching heat on his skin even when he keeps his distance. The adrenaline helps too. He never feels cold while he's racing.

The wind lashes at his face, and he squints into it as he goes into a steep dive, heading in the direction of where he knows the next marker is waiting for him. His heart is pounding in his chest. He can hear cheering, whistling breeze, the crackle of flames, and the rushing of blood in his ears. This is pure energy. This is a rush. This is what he exists to do.

Up ahead he can see more Fiendfyre, suspended fifty feet in the air, lashing dangerously through the bars of the cage it's being contained by. Albus doesn't get as close to it as he probably should do when he turns, and as he accelerates away he hears the crowd screaming encouragement to someone behind him. He can only assume that it’s Jamal who’s gaining on him; he’s the only one who’s ever really been close to Albus in terms of speed when Albus is at the peak of his form, and tonight Albus is on fire. If he’s being caught up then that means it’s time for him to put on a show. This is when the race really begins.

He doesn't spare a glance behind him. There's no time for that. Racing, he's learned over the last seven years, is a game of margins. If you take an instant to find out where your competitors are they'll already have come past you. Instead he flattens himself to the handle of his broom, urging it forward to the next turn.

He's like an arrow, like a lightning bolt, slicing through the sky like he's designed to do it, which in a way he is. He's a Potter after all, not that anyone here knows it; not that he'd ever admit it. But Potters are built to fly: small and skinny and quick. Except he's better at this than his dad ever was. He's perfected it. These days he'd make his dad look clumsy in the air, and the thought of that still delights him even after all this time.

He grins as he turns the broom, a long, looping curve round one end of the stadium, round another flaming cage, and on towards the next. It feels good that this is the stadium he’s racing in for his homecoming. It feels right. This place has always been his favourite, ever since he was a kid scribbling over his mum’s notes in the press box. There’s nowhere he’d rather race, even if the roar of it, the shape of it, the familiar view of the pitch from above makes his heart twinge. If there’s a stadium in the world that feels like home, it’s this one.

He’s thinking too much he realises with a jolt, and he shakes himself. He can feel Jamal closing in behind him, getting dangerously close, and Albus knows that Jamal will be quicker on the flat. He just has to hold him off until the next dive. No one can dive like Albus. They all have something holding them back, but Albus has nothing to lose. If he ploughs into the ground and dies at least he'll have gone doing the only thing he's ever loved, the only thing he's chosen for himself. Albus wins or he dies trying.

“Sev!” Jamal yells, and although his voice is whipped away by the wind, he's close enough now for Albus to hear him.

Albus doesn't respond.

"Hey, Sev!" Jamal tries again. “I hope you had a nice European holiday. Did you enjoy winning all those races out there? I hope you didn’t get too used to it, because you’re not going to be winning many more now you’re back.”

Albus snorts. “I’m in front,” he yells back. “In case you hadn’t noticed, being in front means I’m winning. Or did the rules change while I was away to give everyone else a chance?”

“You may be in front now,” Jamal calls, “but for how much longer?”

And that's when Albus feels a curious sensation dragging him back. Magic. Jamal is an excellent wizard, and now he’s going to charm Albus out of winning. It’s low, but not illegal. In this sort of racing, anything goes.

Albus rolls his eyes. His wand is in his pocket, and it’ll cost him valuable time to fish it out, but the charm is doing that anyway. He’ll get it out on the next straight.

Jamal catches up at the turn, swooping round Albus’s outside so they’re flying shoulder to shoulder. Albus is close to the crate of Fiendfyre and he knows all too well that he’s vulnerable. He screws up all his strength and shoves outwards, so Jamal doesn’t have chance to push him into the scorching flames.

The heat, so close beside him, makes his shoulder ache, and it’s a relief to get past safely. Now they’re flying straight again he can reach down and draw his wand. It takes long enough that Jamal overtakes and gains one foot, two feet, three feet, drawing away into the distance.

Albus grits his teeth and waves his wand. He hates doing magic, especially in the air, but sometimes he has no choice, and this is one of those times. He needs to try and remove the spell, and he just has to hope he doesn’t mess it up.

His first attempt does nothing; if anything it makes him even slower. He can see Jamal disappearing round the next turn up ahead, and he can see shapes from behind flashing closer to him. A couple of his other faster rivals are catching up.

“Come on,” Albus mutters to himself. “You can do this.”

He takes a deep breath and tries to imagine what advice Scorpius would have given him in this situation. It’s what he always does when he’s struggling with magic, even all these years after their parting.

_“Confidence, Albus. It’s not actually that complicated a spell. You just have to be firm with it. And don’t move your wrist so much, you’re going to take someone’s eye out if you flick your wand around like that.”_

_Says you,_ Albus thinks at his internal Scorpius. _You were always a danger to everyone, all that flailing._

But he takes the words to heart. He closes his eyes for a moment, then he screws up all his confidence and determination, and casts the spell.

Immediately he wonders if he’s overdone it and somehow accidentally propelled himself forwards, but he’s not going to complain if he has. The spell releases and he shoots forward far faster than he’d been flying before. It takes all his skill to control the turn and stop himself spinning out into the crowd, but he makes it round, and already he can see Jamal up ahead.

The crowd screams, and he doesn’t care if they’re for him or against him as long as they’re roaring like that. It’s all the fuel he needs.

He flattens himself right against his broom, so everything from stomach to chin is pressed against the varnished wood. The world blurs around him as he gathers speed. There’s one more long turn before the finish line and he’s gaining. He can do this.

“Go, go, go,” he says to his broom, urging it on, and he can feel it almost vibrating with the effort it’s giving.

They’re just a few feet away now, but they’re at the turn. Albus can’t physically go any faster, but Jamal stays in front as they round the corner. Albus isn’t even quite close enough to give him a nudge towards the fire.

Another ball of Fiendfyre flies over their heads as they pull out into the final straight and start to dive down towards the finish. Jamal ducks, but Albus is already low enough to his broom that he doesn’t have to, and he gains another couple of inches.

He’s right beside Jamal now, and he sees Jamal glance across and try to put on an extra burst of speed, but there’s no way either of them can go faster than they already are, and Jamal is tall, thin, light, and crucially just a touch slower than Albus, especially descending.

Albus can see the finish line, a strip of glowing gold in the air ahead of them. He pulls out of his dive at the same instant as Jamal and they couldn’t possibly be closer. There’s not even an inch separating them.

But then, from below, there’s the sound of shouting. Not the roar of the crowd but a more distinct sound.

“Stop! Stop, stop, stop! Stop this race right now.”

Jamal hesitates and glances down, but Albus doesn’t. Whatever anyone says he’s not stopping the race with the finish line in sight. That’s not how this works. He can worry about anything else once it’s over.

He shoots across the line, Jamal trailing a foot behind, and he punches the air. There’s no roar from the crowd, who are all distracted by what’s happening on the ground, so he lowers his arms and wheels round, peering down at the pitch below to see what’s going on.

There’s a single wizard down there, standing in the middle of the grass, right where the centre circle is marked. He’s holding his wand up to his throat and looking around at everyone. Albus notices the crest on his robes: he’s from the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

Albus stops dead in the air and stares down in horror at the Ministry wizard. “What- How did they- They’ve found us! We need to get out of here, we-“

Jamal gives a grim laugh and pats him on the shoulder. “You’ve been in France too long, Sev. This isn’t exactly a new development.” He glances around. “Where’s Gareth? We need our spokesman.”

One by one Albus’s competitors go streaking past him towards the ground, and he hangs in the air, not knowing what to do other than follow them. Maybe he _has_ been away too long. This wasn’t what he was expecting, but no one else seems surprised to find the Ministry here. When he was last here this sort of thing would have been a disaster. Everyone would have panicked and fled. There would have been chaos. Now there’s a strange sense of order, like people were ready for this.

He touches down at the back of the group, keen to keep a crowd of his fellow racers between himself and the Ministry wizard. The last thing he needs now is for someone to recognise him – he can’t remember when he last took a dose of his potion, and it’s been too long since he cut his hair. Luckily, being at the back of the group doesn’t mean he can’t hear what’s going on, because the Ministry wizard is using a Sonorus Charm, which echoes through the whole stadium when he speaks.

“Everyone needs to leave this stadium,” the man says. “This race is over and if you don’t leave you will be liable for prosecution. If you could leave quickly and-“

“Wait wait wait.” A tall, powerful man with a bald head, pale skin, and a heavy Welsh accent nudges his way to the front of the crowd. “I think you’re being a bit hasty here, sir. I know you’re from the Ministry but what authority do you have to throw us out? Last time one of your lot came it turned out only Law Enforcement could get rid of us, and I’m sure you understand we’ve got a crowd to entertain and families to feed.”

The Ministry wizard removes his wand from his throat, letting the Sonorus Charm die, and points it at the group. “As all of you well know, this race is illegal. You have been warned plenty of times. On our last visit we said that if you were caught racing again you would be subject to fines and the possibility of further legal action.”

“And I’m well aware of that,” Gareth says, “but you can’t arrest us or fine us or evict us. I’d say this is a bit of a wasted trip. Or is this the part where the Aurors come storming in to back you up?”

The wizard puffs himself up and glares at the group. “I’m not here to arrest you or fine you tonight. I’m here to deliver a message.”

“So you’re the Ministry’s Owl then?” Gareth asks, and one of the racers at the back of the group makes a hooting sound. The others laugh, and Gareth glances round and grins. “Thank you for that contribution.” He turns back to the official. ”Look, I’m sorry for your wasted trip out here, sir. I hope they’re paying you overtime.”

“They’re not, but-“ The Ministry wizard breaks off, shuffling his feet and going red. Albus can’t help but feel a little bit sorry for him. He’s probably far too overworked and underpaid to deal with this sort of thing, but here he is. Doing his best. He’s committed to his rubbish job at least. “But that’s not the point,” the man continues, puffing himself up and trying to inject some authority into his voice. “I’m here to deliver a message. And the message is this. You have twelve hours to disband this league and discontinue all illegal activity. If you fail to comply then reinforcements from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will be dispatched to carry out further action. This is your final warning, and-“ He hesitates, thinking hard, apparently trying to remember if he has anything else to say. After a second he shakes his head. “No, that’s all. I will now escort you from these premises.” He points his wand from person to person across the front of the crowd surrounding him, but no one moves.

Gareth glances up at the stands around the pitch, and it’s clear that the spectators have started to disband. The numbers up there are getting thinner and thinner by the second. Soon there’ll be no one left to race in front of.

“Alright,” he says with a sigh. “We’ll leave. But we’re clearing up first. Those Fiendfyre cages are expensive.” He gestures to a couple of others, and people start to follow him back into the air to start tidying the course away. Albus takes the opportunity to make himself scarce.

He hurries across the grass in the direction of the changing rooms, head buzzing. What’s been happening while he’s been gone? Last time he was here the Ministry hadn’t found them, and now there have been warnings and legal action and... Everything is falling apart. Maybe it’s already _fallen_ apart. He’d been so looking forward to being home, but now... Now what? There’s only one person who can answer that question, and he really hopes her answer is a good one.

Shower water thunders down onto Albus’s head, hot and heavy, making him shiver where it hits a tender spot on his back. He rubs a hand over his shoulder, which prickles and aches under the heat of the water. It’s never going to stop being sensitive to heat.

The sound of the drumming water is almost so loud that he doesn’t hear the door open. Almost, but not quite. He’s been waiting for that sound, so he picks it out and all his relaxation disappears into tense stiffness as he waits for whatever comes next.

“Sev, you get out of that shower right now and tell me what’s going on or I’ll come in and drag you out by the-“

He doesn’t need telling twice. He grabs the nearest towel, wipes his face so he can see where he’s going, then wraps it round his waist and stumbles out of the stall.

There’s a short woman waiting for him, standing brazenly in the middle of the shower room, hands on hips, silver and blue hair wild and windswept from sitting in the stands on a breezy, Welsh coastal evening.

“Okay,” she says, immediately shielding her eyes with her hand and turning her back. “Maybe you should have stayed in there. Will you put some clothes on?”

He rolls his eyes and starts drying himself properly and getting dressed while she has her back turned. “I thought you wanted to know what’s going on,” he says.

“I do, but not from a-“ she waves a hand in his direction over her shoulder. “Half naked you.”

Albus almost smiles at that as he starts wriggling into his t-shirt. “I was in the shower, Delphi. What did you expect?”

Delphi shrugs. “Some improvements at least. Aren’t you supposed to have been working out? And your scars look- Anyway.” She holds both hands up and stops herself. “There was a Ministry official at our race. What was a Ministry official doing at our race?”

Albus pulls his jeans up and buttons them, then he leans against the wall behind him, water dripping from his hair onto his back, every inch of his clothes clinging to his damp body. “I don’t know,” he murmurs. “I wasn’t exactly expecting- Apparently this isn’t new. It was a final warning. Someone from my dad’s- you know- Someone from Magical Law Enforcement is supposed to be coming tomorrow if we haven’t disbanded by then. I don’t know how Law Enforcement will find us, but...”

“This is an absolute disaster,” Delphi says, turning to face him. “Coming back was an absolute disaster. I told you we shouldn’t do it. I told you it was a risk. We should go back to Europe tonight. To the Alps, or-“

“I don’t understand how it’s got like this,” Albus whispers, running a hand through his hair. It really is too long. He needs to shave it all off when he gets home. “It’s ridiculous, it’s- It wasn’t like this when we left.”

“No, but this is what it’s like now, so we need to leave,” Delphi says. “Tonight. We can Apparate down to the coast, and then across into France.”

Albus shudders at the thought of Apparating. “Tonight?” He asks.

“Yes,” Delphi says, with a nod, pacing up and down the centre of the room. “Tonight. And then-“

“We only just arrived,” Albus points out. “I want to go home.” _Home_. The thought of sleeping in his own bed for the first time in a year is all that’s kept him going through today. He’s exhausted. He wants his house, with his view, and his comfortable bed, and a bit of peace and quiet. “Can we stay put tonight?” He looks at her as imploringly as he can. “No one’s getting arrested for at least twelve hours. Maybe we should stay here for tonight and reassess in the morning.”

Delphi turns around on the spot, head tipped back, taking a very long, soothing breath. “Albus,” she says, and he flinches at the sound of his own name. “I want you to think about what you’ve just said. And I want you to consider the implications.” She turns to face him, eyes steel grey, with the dangerous edge of a knife to them. “The Department. Of Magical. Law. Enforcement. Is going to show up tomorrow and start tearing this league apart. I know you know what that could mean. For us. For _you_. So think very carefully about the decision you make now. That’s all I’m asking.” She smiles sweetly at him, and the silken honey softness of her voice returns to its normal bright lilt. “I’m worried about you, Sev.” She walks across to him and rubs his arm, giving him a sad little smile. “It’s dangerous here, especially for you. Don’t do anything stupid.”

He meets her eyes for a moment, then he straightens up and brushes past her, heading back towards the changing room so he can get his bags and his broom. “I’m going home,” he says. “I’m tired. I want to think. But don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything stupid. I promise. We can decide what to do in the morning.”

He hears Delphi’s huff as she slumps against the wall behind him. “You still haven’t told me where home is,” she says. “How am I supposed to find you to talk if I don’t know where you live?”

Albus glances back at her. “You always find me. And I always find you. See you in the morning, Delphi.” He blows her a kiss as he leaves, and it’s a relief to pick up his bags and turn into darkness thinking of home.

Scorpius sits cross-legged on the sofa in the library, head bowed over his case files. The warmth of the fire crackling away just in front of him makes his cheeks feel raw, but he’d rather be too hot than too cold, and anyway, he’s concentrating too hard on his work to move.

He hardly hears the door creak open, or the careful footsteps moving across the bare floorboards, and when a hand settles on his shoulder he jumps. He flails his hands, and his papers go spilling out of the folder and all over the floor.

“I didn’t mean to make you jump,” Draco says, looking around at all the mess.

“Well,” Scorpius says, scrambling to draw his wand and clear everything up. “You still succeeded.” He looks up at his dad. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Draco holds up a mug. “I thought I’d bring up some hot chocolate.”

Scorpius sighs. “Okay. You’re forgiven for sneaking up on me.” He waves his wand and the papers fly into a jumbled up heap, which he catches and starts to reorder.

Draco sets the mug down on the table next to Scorpius and sinks onto the sofa beside him. “Are you still working?”

Scorpius nods, not looking up from his papers. They’re in a total mess now, and it’s difficult to tell what should be where. “I have to read these before tomorrow.”

“What’s happening tomorrow?” Draco asks, taking a sip of his own drink, which Scorpius can only assume _isn’t_ hot chocolate.

“I’m being sent to tell off some people who keep breaking into Quidditch Stadiums and using them for illegal broom racing meets.” He rolls his eyes. “Games and Sports are sick of them, it’s not worth anyone else’s time in Law Enforcement, so I have to do it.” He flicks through the papers, decides it’s hopeless to reorder them by hand, and instead tries one of his fancier tricks. He taps his wand against one of the numbers at the bottom of the pages, then gives it a sharp flick, and the papers reshuffle themselves into order. A couple don’t have numbers at the bottom, so they stay at the top of the pile, but it’s better than nothing. He puts the pile on the table, picks up his mug of hot chocolate, and when he looks up he sees his dad is smiling at him.

“That’s a nice trick.”

Scorpius gives a twisted smile. “I’m getting good at filing.” He takes a sip of his chocolate. “It’s actually quite nice of them to let me out for once. It may be a dull job but at least I’m not chained to my desk while I’m doing it.”

“You’re too good for this job,” Draco says, looking at him. “Haven’t they realised that yet?”

Scorpius shrugs and looks down at his drink. “I don’t know...” He sighs. “I know it’s not very interesting, Dad, but at least it’s something. I wish it was the Department of Mysteries, or- But I’m not going to leave. I don’t know if anywhere else would take me.”

He glances up and sees that his dad’s expression has turned thunderous. His eyes are dark as heavy rain clouds, the anger flashing across his face as sharp as lightning. “Did you read the Prophet this morning?” He asks in a barely restrained whisper, with all the tension of static electric energy before it’s released.

Scorpius swallows. “I can’t stop reading the paper, Dad. I need to know what’s going on. One of my cases was mentioned, so I-“

“That paper is trash, Scorpius,” Draco says, leaning across and looking Scorpius right in the eyes. “Do you understand me? You shouldn’t believe a word of it, especially not what they say about you.”

Scorpius gives a placatory nod. “I agree that it devalues the real news a little bit, and-“

“A little bit?” Draco interrupts.

Scorpius holds a hand up. “ _More_ than a little bit. But I still need to know what they’re saying. Not about me, about everything else.”

“But-“

Scorpius groans, because he can’t believe they’re going to have this argument again. “Dad, I know the rumours aren’t true, okay? It’s not me you need to convince, it’s-“ He makes a small gesture towards the world at large and drops his hand into his lap, bowing his head. “It’s everyone else.”

Draco purses his lips and it looks like he’s struggling with himself. After several long seconds he shakes his head. “I should go and have words with Potter. He should give you a promotion. It’s the least he can do.”

Scorpius sets his mug down and gathers the papers back into his lap. “I’d rather earn it,” he says, knowing there’s no point arguing with his dad but wanting to say it anyway.

“I’m sure you already have,” Draco says.

Scorpius picks the first sheet off the top of the pile and examines it. It’s a profile on one of the racers, with a blurry photo attached. In the absence of any decent headshot, there’s a picture of the racer zooming through the photo like an arrow, too fast to catch any detail beyond the robes whipping behind him.

“These are the sorts of people I have to deal with tomorrow,” he says, in an attempt to change the subject. “This one’s called Sev. Just Sev. No one knows anything about him apart from the fact that he’s one of the best racers in the league.” He shakes his head. “Apparently he’s fearless, and the rumour is that he has nothing to lose... He sounds like an idiot.”

Draco smiles. “I think you’re more than a match for this Sev. Or any of the rest of them.”

Scorpius looks down at Sev’s photo, and sees him skid into the middle of the picture and pause mid-flight, looking around. The photo is taken from too far away to make much out, but Sev looks focused and sharp. The sleeves of his robes are rolled up to his elbows and Scorpius can just make out the curls and lines of tattoos running down his forearms. As he stares he can’t help but think that there’s something about that face that looks familiar, but before he has time to work it out, Sev is on the move again, zooming out of frame in the blink of an eye.

“Your mother took me to an illegal race meet once,” Draco says.

Scorpius almost drops his files again in amazement as he looks up and stares at his dad. “Did she?”

His dad nods. “She did.” There’s a reminiscent glint in his eyes. “It was our fourth date, I think. She liked the adrenaline of it. She never wanted life to be too slow, your mother. And I think she liked the thrill of breaking the rules.”

Scorpius grins. “Wasn’t she Head Girl at school?”

“Of course. I think that just made it worse.”

Scorpius laughs and hugs the files to his chest. He looks down at his knees and his smile fades. “Do you think it’ll be okay tomorrow?”

His dad looks at him sharply. “Of course I do. What are you worried will happen?”

Scorpius shrugs and ducks his head, pulling his knees up to his chest to make himself as small as possible. “I’m a bit scared that I’ll do something to mess it up, and they won’t let me do even the rubbish jobs that no one wants to do ever again.”

“You’re going to be excellent,” his dad says, and there’s so much certainty in his voice that Scorpius really believes him. “I have faith in you.”

Scorpius looks at him, and realises that he doesn’t even need to check if his dad really means it. “Thanks, Dad,” He says softly.

“Come here,” Draco says, beckoning to him.

Scorpius groans, but there’s no real reluctance as he sets the files down, crawls along the couch to curl up against his dad’s side, and allows himself to be wrapped in a warm hug. Twenty-four should probably be too old to live for his dad’s hugs, but it’s not. He still clings to each and every one because some days they’re all that are keeping him going.

His dad presses a kiss to his forehead and brushes his fingers through his hair. “Go and shine,” he murmurs.

Scorpius nods and hugs him back as tight as he can. “I will,” he says. “I promise.”


	2. Home

_“Hello.”_

_Albus jumps at the sound of the voice and looks up. There’s a girl standing in the entrance to the shed, grinning at him. She has bright silver hair that shines in the setting sun, and her coat is made of a myriad of glossy feathers that aren’t really black, but a thousand other colours – turquoise and midnight blue and emerald and deep purple._

_He frowns at her. “Um... hello?”_

_She gives a slightly awkward little wave that reminds him a tiny bit of Scorpius, then she laughs and gestures around. “I saw you sitting here,” she says. “I wanted to know if you’re okay.”_

_Albus looks around at the broom shed and shrugs. Right now he’s fine; he’s out here, but he gets the point. Okay people don’t hide in broom sheds in their parents’ yard._

_“I’m alright,” he says. “I like sitting out here. It’s quiet.”_

_She nods. “Okay. That’s good.” She hangs in the doorway for a second, then she steps forward and reaches out a hand. “I’m Delphi,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you.”_

_Albus takes her hand and shakes it. “Albus,” he says._

_Her eyes go wide and she releases his hand, stumbling back a step. “Albus Potter? So Harry is your dad.”_

_Albus hugs his knees to his chest and nods. “Unfortunately.”_

_“Oh.” Delphi’s face falls as she looks at Albus. “Is that not a good thing?”_

_“Not really,” Albus mutters._

_She pauses for a second, looking uncertain. She twists her hands together and seems to consider what to say, then she takes a step back toward Albus and sits opposite him on the floor, crossing her legs. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t really like my family either. But I always think that the family you make for yourself is more important than the family you’re born with.”_

_Albus looks at her for a moment, considering. He thinks about Scorpius, the only person he’d choose to be his family if he could. “I suppose so.”_

_“You can choose,” she says. “The people you want in your life. If your dad is difficult then... maybe you don’t need him. Maybe you just deserve better.”_

_Albus frowns, processing that. “Do you actually think that’s true?”_

_Delphi nods. “Of course it is.”_

_A slow smile spreads across Albus’s face and he leans toward her. “Okay. Thank you.”_

“Accio keys.” Albus directs his wand into the top of his backpack and waits. Nothing. “Accio keys,” he repeats, this time with considerably more force. A faint rattle can be heard somewhere in the depths of the bag, but still no keys come flying out. He sighs, closes his eyes for a moment to try and get rid of some of his frustration, then tries one last time, giving his words as much authority as he can. “Accio keys.” This time, a set of four silver keys come shooting out of the bag, miss his hand by inches, smack him hard on the forehead, and fall with a clatter onto the garden path.

“Ow,” he groans, rubbing his forehead. “Stupid things.” He snatches them up, finds his front door key, and stuffs it into the lock. It’s difficult in the dark, but even after a year away he hasn’t lost the knack, and a moment later his front door swings open to welcome him home.

He picks his bags up and steps over the threshold. There’s a freshness to the air when he inhales. It smells of home. After so long away it’s pure relief, and he closes and locks the door behind himself, shoulders relaxing as he does, because he’s here. He’s safe. He can be entirely himself for a couple of hours.

He kicks his shoes off and pads down the hall to the kitchen, feet sinking into the carpet.

It doesn’t feel uninhabited in here. There’s not a speck of dust anywhere, but that’s not unexpected. His amazing housekeeper, Mrs Peters, has been in twice a week while he’s been away, and it feels like he’s barely been gone. There’s a note on the kitchen table, and he leaves his bags by the door and goes across to read it.

_Welcome home._

_There are some bits and pieces in the fridge._

_It’s good to have you back._

Mrs Peters really is an absolute hero, he thinks as his stomach rumbles at the thought of food. It’s been such a long and busy day – it always is in the lead up to a race – and he hasn’t even had time to think about food until now. If it had been left up to him he’d have had nothing to eat, but now... He opens the fridge and discovers two bowls of pasta salad and a whole lasagne sitting on the shelves among milk and butter and fresh apples. Now he has lasagne, and if that isn’t the perfect homecoming gift then he doesn’t know what is.

If he tried to do magic now he’d burn the house down, so he sticks a slice of lasagne in the oven and leans against the worktop while it heats up, rubbing his shoulder and enjoying the familiarity of his surroundings.

It’s not really a homely space. There are no photos or objects to remind him of the past. There are no memories here. But that’s a good thing. That’s the way he likes it, clean and clinical, with its ruby red (definitely not scarlet) doors on all his kitchen units, the glittering black granite of the work surfaces, all the kitchen utensils perfectly ordered and hanging from hooks on the walls where he can grab them, the Mimbulus Mimbletonia thrumming happily to itself on the window ledge, and his potion-making area set up and stocked with fuel and little bottles of ingredients. It may not be homely, but it’s home, and what’s more, it’s _his_ home.

When his dinner is ready he wolfs it down as fast as he can, far too fast to properly savour it, then he grabs his bags and traipses upstairs. With his hunger attended to, his mind turns to his current biggest problem: tomorrow.

If there was one downside to coming home, back to the UK, then it’s this. When he’s here he’s in far greater danger than he is anywhere else in the world. Here his family have an all-consuming level of fame.

He hasn’t read a newspaper since he got back, but he’s seen the headlines in shop windows and on street corners and he knows his dad is mentioned in almost every single one. The chance of running into his family, or someone who knows them, or even worse, someone who recognises him despite all his attempts to disguise himself, is exponentially greater here, and that sits on him like a dead weight. It’s that jeopardy, that fear, that’s allowed him to stay out of the country for as long as he has. But he doesn’t regret coming home; he really has missed it, and occasionally, somewhere inside the bit of his heart that he tries to forget exists, he does wonder if being found wouldn’t be so bad after all.

One of his favourite things to fantasise about while he was lying awake at night during those long days touring Europe, was what would happen if someone one day did find him. He’s imagined his dad or one of the Aurors hunting him down, or running into his mum out shopping one day. If he closes his eyes he can summon up visions of a tearful reunion, full of hugs and apologies and forgiveness. It’s stupid, he knows, because it would never go like that, especially with his dad, but on his lowest, loneliest days it’s something to hold onto.

He nudges his bedroom door open, drops his bags on the bed, and crosses to the window. Night is falling outside, and the city lights sparkle in the river down the hillside below his house. He’s set high up here, with a view out towards more rolling hills and countryside. Flying almost non-stop for the last seven years has given him a good head for heights, and it’s hard to imagine living somewhere low down, but that’s not why he bought this house on the hillside. He bought it because, even though he can’t see it from here, he knows that somewhere across those rolling hills is Ottery St Catchpole, and if he flew in a straight line from this window, he would reach his parents’ house.

He leans his forehead on the cool glass for a moment and closes his eyes. When he opens them, past the mist of his breath on the window pane, he sees the state of his hair. If there’s one thing that’ll give him away faster than anything else, it’s his hair. The Aurors must have been given his description; everyone in the country probably has his description, and that description will include the words ‘hair like Harry Potter’.

With a heavy sigh he drags himself out to the bathroom. Tomorrow he has to face someone from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and if any Ministry official is likely to recognise him then it’ll be one of the people from his dad’s department. He can’t put a foot wrong tomorrow, especially where his appearance is concerned. That is, if he even decides to face the person from the Ministry. They could just run. That’s what Delphi wants to do.

He bows his head over the sink and draws his wand, starting to scythe away the overlong strands of hair, trying to get the shave as close to his scalp as he can without cutting himself.

Facing the Ministry would be reckless, he knows it would, but at the same time... If he does this and gets through it he’ll know for sure that his disguise works. Plus he likes it here, he wants to be home, and he can’t stay if there’s no league to race in. Helping to defend it is in his and Delphi’s interest. This is how they make their living after all. If the money doesn’t convince her, nothing will.

Running a hand over his now prickly scalp, he lifts his head to look at himself in the mirror. His hair is a disaster, it always is when he cuts it all off. Every bit of him is a disaster really, so at least the hair matches now.

The potion that changes his eyes to a deep, mahogany brown is starting to wear off, and they’re in the weird, hazel transition stage where his vision is a tiny bit blurred as the effects fade. Then there’s his shoulder, which is prickling again, like it almost always is. He strips his shirt off so he can inspect it, revealing the long, dark, curling tattoos down his arms – from shoulder to mid-forearm on the left and from shoulder to elbow on the right. They’re meant to obscure the scars he’s picked up from two separate accidents while he’s been racing, but he’s learned over the years that Fiendfyre burn scars don’t like to be hidden, and the one on his left arm is standing out as a particularly ugly, ferocious shade of red today.

He sighs and scrubs the heel of his hand against his eyes, then he opens the bathroom cupboard and takes out one of the many jars of burn salve he keeps in there, which he smears across his left shoulder and down his arm. It’s not instant relief, but it helps soothe the prickling pain a little bit, and he exhales as the salve starts to spread a gentle cooling sensation across his skin. He spreads more salve down his right arm, then he puts the jar away, closes the cupboard, and faces himself in the mirror once again.

His exhausted self, with the roughly shaved hair, tired hazel eyes, pierced ears, and scars that are beginning to fade from angry red to pink, stares back at him, and he blinks a couple of times. Things may not be perfect – things are never perfect – but being here helps. And now he’s here he’s not going to leave. Not for a few months at least. Delphi promised a few months. So tomorrow he’ll deal with whatever the Ministry and his dad have to throw at him, then he’ll get on with his life, just the way he’s been getting on with it for seven years.

“The future is mine to make,” he murmurs to himself, running his fingers over the small pair of wings tattooed on his left shoulder blade. Those have always been words he’s clung to, and now they’re more resonant than ever. They’ll get what they want out of tomorrow if they’re smart, sensible, and take control, so that’s going to be the plan of attack. Now he just has to convince Delphi...

In the end, Albus doesn’t have chance to convince Delphi. When he arrives at the training ground the next morning it’s to discover that he’s the first one there and Delphi is nowhere to be found. For a moment he wonders if during his absence the league has found a new training ground and he’s in completely the wrong place, but the fresh scorch marks on the pitch and the blackened Fiendfyre crates lying against one of the walls of the clubhouse tell him that this is exactly where he should be and that everyone else is just late.

He mounts his broom and kicks off from the ground; it’s nice to get a few laps in before the air gets clogged up with people. This was the first training ground Delphi brought him to, when he was still just seventeen years old. He’d been flying for years in secret at school and at home, practicing, getting faster. He found that even if his bullies were also on brooms, they couldn’t catch him. Flying was the perfect, sometimes the only, way to escape, and his desire to disappear from the world manifested in the sort of quiet work ethic that saw him spend hours flying every day, in rain, wind, storms, and snow as much as in sunshine. Still, as good and as quick as he was, nothing could have prepared him for his first visit here – this place gave him a literal baptism of fire. It’s strange to think how familiar it is now, seven years later, familiar enough to almost feel like home.

He banks round the end of the pitch, shoulder grazing the charms put in place to stop anyone who shouldn’t from seeing what they get up to in here. The magic ripples beneath his touch, and a couple of sparks fizz off the barrier and dissipate. He makes a hard left turn in towards the pitch and dives, hurling himself and his broom as fast as he can at the grass below.

The instant before he hits the ground, he pulls up and goes shooting across the pitch, the tips of his toes brushing the overgrown grass. His heart is pounding, and his whole body is alive with exhilarating adrenaline. Flying is so much like falling, except when he’s flying he knows it’s in his power to stop himself before he hits the ground. Flying lets him put himself in terrible danger and also lets him be his own saviour. That might be his favourite thing about it.

He weaves his way across the pitch, then zooms back up into the air for some more laps and dives. It’s not long before he’s joined by other racers and they begin a sort of mid-air ballet of trying to avoid each other’s manoeuvres. Albus survives the next hour unscathed and decides it’s time to take a break. He hovers just off the ground, the tips of his toes barely brushing the tufts of grass, while he takes a long swig from his water bottle. It’s at that point that Delphi shows up.

“Good morning,” she says, coming up from behind him and putting a hand on his back.

He manages not to jump so hard he falls off his broom, but he does dribble water all down his front and spills half the bottle on the floor as he grabs the broom handle for support.

“Delphi,” he gasps, wiping the water from his chin and twisting round towards her.

She grins and moves round in front of him, looking exceptionally pleased with herself. “I hoped I’d find you here. Have you been training?”

“Always. What have you been doing? You’re late.”

She checks her watch and shrugs. “Not that late. Anyway, I had a busy night.” She runs her hand up to his shoulder, and he twitches out of her grip. “You’re here. Does that mean you’ve decided you’re staying?”

Albus puts the cap on his water bottle and drops it onto the pitch. He takes a deep breath and looks at Delphi. “I’ve been thinking about it, and... I really do want to stay. This is home, you know? And I don’t want this league shut down. We can make money here. We’ve always made money here. It would feel strange to leave for good. And you did promise a few months, remember? You promised.”

He’s never been able to read her. He looks at her now, and she’s looking back at him with dark, obscure eyes, her gaze impenetrable. She’s thinking, that’s as much as he knows, and she’s scrutinising him, but he has no way of knowing if he’s said completely the right or completely the wrong thing. At times like this she’s unpredictable and more than a little bit unnerving.

After a few seconds of silence he opens his mouth to appeal to her, feeling like he needs to say something, but she gets there first.

“I agree,” she says. “That we should stay. I think there are opportunities here, and there are a lot of people that I need to meet and that you,” she puts her hand back on his shoulder and squeezes it in an uncomfortably tight grip, “need to meet.” She shoots him a dazzling smile. “I think we have a bright future here, and I’m glad we agree on that.”

Albus stares up into her dazzling eyes, searching for all her confidence and excitement for their future – _his_ future – and when he finds it there he nods and relaxes. If she thinks it’s a good idea to stay then it must be, and it’s so rare for them to agree on something that he’ll take this as a sign. “Okay,” he says. “Good. That’s good.”

“It is,” she says brightly. “But Sev...” She glances over her shoulder then steps in close, leaning up on tiptoe so they’re at exactly matching heights as she lowers her voice. “Be careful. The person coming today is from your dad’s department. Remember what I said about not doing anything stupid. We need to keep you safe; that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Albus looks down at his knees and nods. “I’ll be careful, I promise. I cut my hair last night, and I took the potion this morning. They won’t recognise me.” He lifts his head and smiles at her. “I barely recognise me.”

Delphi shifts her hand from his shoulder to his cheek, running her fingers gently down to his jaw. “I recognise you. Sev. My star racer.” She leans in and kisses him softly on the corner of his mouth. “That’s all you need to be today. It’s all you ever need to be for me. Just yourself.” She pulls back and looks at him, and he nods, as always too stunned by her proximity and attention to know quite what to say.

“Good boy,” she murmurs, then her hand is gone, fingers trailing the rest of the way down his neck and making him shiver before she pulls it away. “Well, today is going to be a disaster, so I should let you fly while you can. Have fun, but not too much fun. I’ll be in the clubhouse when you need me.” She rolls her eyes. “I can’t quite believe we’re going along with this.” Then she’s gone, leaving Albus to sway back and forth on his broom, brain a little fuzzy, the corner of his mouth tingling.

He reaches up to touch the edge of his lips, then he shakes himself. It still makes no sense to him why he reacts to her this way. They’ve been friends for years now – just friends, and colleagues – nothing more. He doesn’t even especially fancy her these days. Maybe he did once but that’s long passed. But she has this way about her that scrambles his mind and makes him completely stop thinking. She has a power over him that he’s never been able to describe and that she always laughs off. But it’s there – not a problem, of course. It doesn’t worry him. It’s just a strange facet of their relationship that he’s never been able to fathom.

He shakes his head to clear it and reaches down for his water bottle. Most of the contents have already been used to water the ground and the front of his t-shirt, but he downs what’s left and lobs the empty bottle in the direction of the bin. It bounces off, and he goes over to pick it up and throw it away properly before wheeling about and returning to the air, because she’s right. This day really is going to be a disaster, and the more practice he can get in before everything falls apart, the better.

He’s been flying for an hour and a half when it happens. There’s an outburst of noise and kerfuffle over by the gate to the grounds, and when he swings round in mid-air to get a look at what’s going on, he sees a figure in sky blue robes being blocked from entering the grounds by a couple of his fellow racers.

No sooner has he noticed that something’s going on than Delphi sticks her head out of the clubhouse door to see what all the commotion is. He flies down to her.

“The Ministry are here,” he says.

”I can see that. Last chance to leave. Are you sure you want to do this?” She looks at him and there’s a glint in her eye that says she already knows full well what his answer is going to be.

Albus glances in the direction of the crowd by the gates. “Yes, I want to do this. I’ll be careful.”

He hops off the broom and leaves it by the wall, then he rests a hand briefly on Delphi’s arm as he sets off towards the gate.

There’s a swarm of people gathering there now. Racers come flying in from all corners of the grounds, and their brooms among the crowd seem to form an intimidating barbed fence standing out even within the wall of bodies. Albus can sense Delphi trailing behind him as he joins the crowd and starts weaving his way towards the front. He’s too short to see over everyone’s heads, but at least he can hear what’s going on.

“Two points. First point, I’m not here to arrest anyone or cause any trouble, I just want to talk. Second point, more significant point, I have a warrant of entry from the Ministry of Magic, so technically you have to let me in.”

Albus’s heart stops. He knows that voice. He would know that voice anywhere.

“Excuse me,” he says, nudging his way past the person in front of him. “Sorry. Let me- I need to-“ He barges through the crowd without thinking. There’s part of him that’s screaming at him to stop, to run away, to walk as fast as he can in the opposite direction and find somewhere to hide, because this is the sort of danger he’s been terrified of for years. But the rest of him doesn’t care. The rest of him stopped thinking the second he heard that voice, which he’s been missing for seven years.

He bursts through to the front of the crowd, not caring that he’s leaving a disgruntled, elbowed wake behind him, and when he gets there he stops dead and stares.

Scorpius Malfoy has visibly grown up in the last few years. He’s taller, and impossibly skinnier, but he looks surer in his body now. When he was younger he always seemed surprised by his height and the length of his limbs, but now there’s a strength and control, almost a grace, to his movements, like he’s finally grown into himself.

His face has lost the last of its childlike roundness. His jaw is strong and defined, and his cheekbones are sharp. The white blond Malfoy hair shines as bright as ever, almost silver in the summer sunshine, and it’s a touch longer than it used to be, long enough for the soft, stray curls to frame his face and graze the nape of his neck, just about reaching the collar of his sky blue Ministry robes – he works for the Ministry now, for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and even though Albus knows that was never among his ambitions he can’t help but feel the role still suits him. It lends him an authority that’s impressive and not at all surprising. Scorpius Malfoy as a Ministry official feels like the fulfilment of some sort of promise. It feels right.

Albus realises suddenly that he’s been staring with his mouth open. He snaps it shut and swallows hard. His heart is thudding in his chest and his mouth has gone dry. It’s been so long and now Scorpius is here, looking like this: like heaven, like home, and Albus doesn’t know what to do about it.

Except he does know. He knows exactly what to do. What he needs to do is to run and get as far away from here – from Scorpius – as he can. But before he can move, Scorpius turns and looks at him, and Albus finds himself unable to move.

Scorpius doesn’t say a word, but there’s something in his gaze – something sharp and attentive, a slight widening of those eyes that today are the heavy grey of rain clouds – that tells Albus that Scorpius knows exactly who he is.

Scorpius take a step towards him. “What are you-“

“I’ll deal with this,” Albus says, raising his voice so the entire crowd can hear him. “He can talk to me.”

Gareth emerges from the crowds next to him. “Sev... I think we should all talk this through together. You’ve been away for so long, you’re not up on what’s been happening.” He lowers his voice. “There’s safety in numbers here.”

Albus takes a deep breath and nods. “I know, but...” He looks up at Gareth, one of the first people to accept him seven years ago, and he doesn’t know how to explain. It’s always been an unspoken rule that Gareth speaks for all of them, and he has no right to take that away, except...

He draws himself up with all the strength and authority he can muster, trying to stand the way Scorpius is standing, like he has a right to decide what’s going to happen here, and he raises his voice a little so the other racers can hear. “That may be true, but I’m-“ He cuts himself off, not knowing where he was going with that sentence. _But I’m his best friend_. _But I’m his boss’s son_. Neither of those things are really true anymore...

“Trust me,” he tries instead. “I know what I’m doing. I can make this go away, I promise.”

The other racers glance at each other, and a murmur sweeps through the crowd as everyone starts discussing what to do. Finally Gareth raises a hand and cuts off the hubbub.

“You’d damn well better do a good job of this, Sev. If you can sort this out, then-“

“I promise I can.”

He nods. “Then get on with it. We’re all counting on you.”

Albus swallows and looks around at the expectant faces of the crowd, wondering if he’s done the right thing here. Then he glances over his shoulder and sees Scorpius standing there, watching him with a perplexed, slightly stunned look on his face, and any apprehension he has melts away in an instant. This is all going to be entirely okay.

“We should get out of here,” he says, turning his back on the crowd and going over to Scorpius. “There’s a nice cafe round the corner. We can go there and talk.”

Scorpius gestures past him, in the direction of the grounds. “But I’m supposed to- I can’t just _leave_ without doing anything.”

“And we can’t talk in here with this lot,” Albus says. “They won’t leave you alone. It’ll be much easier elsewhere...” He pauses, then plays what he hopes is his trump card. “Your iced tea is on me.”

If Scorpius had looked ready to dig his heels in before, now his expression seems to thaw, and a small, glowing smile crosses his face. He sighs and waves a hand. “Fine. Fine! But it had better be a really good iced tea.”

“It will be,” Albus promises, returning the smile. “Come on.” He puts a hand on Scorpius’s arm and is about to guide him out of the gate when he feels a tug on the hood of his jacket that snaps his head back just enough to get his attention. He wheels round to push the person away, but sees Delphi there at the front of the crowd, smiling a dangerously sweet smile, her eyes like daggers of ice.

He deflates. “Give me a second,” he tells Scorpius, then he turns to Delphi and steps in close to her so no one else can hear. “What are you-“

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” She hisses, tone so high pitched she sounds almost hysterical.

“Fixing this,” he murmurs back, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Delphi-“

“This doesn’t look like being safe,” she says, slapping his hand away. “It doesn’t look like being sensible. This looks like _a disaster_.”

“It’s fine!” Albus says soothingly. “He’s- it’s fine. I promise I’ll be careful. If it makes you happy I’ll be back in time for dinner. I’ll tell you what happens.”

Delphi glares at him, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen so much animosity in her eyes. Maybe directed at other people, but never at him. “I really really hope you know what you’re doing,” she says, voice low now, and a little bit dangerous. “Albus Severus-“

“I do,” he snaps, cutting her off. “I’m an adult. I can handle myself. I’ll see you later.” He plants a kiss on her cheek despite his burst of irritation (why does she need to be so controlling?) then turns away and waves for Scorpius to go ahead of him out of the gate. “Come on. Let’s go.”

They walk in silence for about a hundred metres down the street before Scorpius stops dead. Albus stops too.

“Are you-“

“It’s you,” Scorpius says, and Albus can hear that his voice is trembling. The smile on his face looks shaky too, like he can’t decide whether he wants to grin or burst into tears.

Albus swallows and nods. “Yeah,” he breathes. “It’s me.”

Scorpius opens his mouth, closes it again, then draws in a very deep breath. “What happened to your eyes?” He asks. “They’re... they’re brown.”

“Oh,” Albus says, twisting round to look at himself in the window behind him. “I-I suppose they are. It’s a potion.”

“A potion,” Scorpius says dubiously. “Why? The green is so...”

“It’s supposed to stop people knowing who I am,” Albus says.

Scorpius hesitates for a moment, then grins. “Well it’s not done a very good job, has it? You can’t wear that-“ he tugs gently on one of the white strings of Albus’s favourite green hoodie “-and not expect people to recognise you.”

Albus folds his arms and lifts his chin. “It’s worked for seven years, hasn’t it?”

Scorpius considers for a moment, then shrugs. “Touché. You mentioned iced tea?”

Albus smiles. “I did.”

They start walking again, and as they do they keep glancing at each other. Twice Albus catches Scorpius looking at him, and their eyes meet. For some reason Albus’s cheeks feel very hot, and the day may be warm but it’s not _that_ warm.

“Was she your girlfriend?” Scorpius asks after a few paces. “You know, the one with the-“ he makes a wriggling motion with his fingers over his head.

“Who? Delphi?” Albus looks across at him and pulls a face. “No, definitely not. She’s more like my...” He trails off, not sure he knows what word he’s looking for. Delphi’s relationship to him is undefinable. She’s a friend, a confidant, a sister, a manager, and a teacher all rolled into one. Who she is to him is too much to explain in a word. She’s been everything to him. “She’s Delphi,” he says with a shrug. “But I don’t... she’s not my type.”

Scorpius frowns and looks down at the ground. “But you-“

“It’s just something we do,” Albus says, not sure why he feels such a desperate urge to explain that fact. “It doesn’t really mean anything. It’s... it’s weird I suppose. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know why he apologises either; it just feels like the right thing to do. Scorpius nods and bows his head as they keep walking in silence.

Albus notices that now they’re not in front of the crowd anymore Scorpius’s posture has crumpled. He’s lost all the authority from his stance, and now his shoulders are hunched, his head down. He looks small, and a little bit lost, especially inside those sky blue robes that suddenly seem far too big for him, and are definitely far stiffer than any of the clothes Albus thinks of as being the sort of thing Scorpius feels comfortable in.

“So you work for the Ministry now,” Albus says softly. “For- for, you know...”

“A very very, _very_ junior official,” Scorpius says, with this little twisted smile that looks like it hurts, although Albus can’t fathom why. “But yes, an employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. And you’re an illegal broom racer.”

“It’s a job,” Albus says, and Scorpius’s difficult, painful smile melts into a real one.

“That’s one word for it.”

They reach the cafe, and Albus holds the door open for Scorpius to go in ahead of him. While Scorpius weaves between the chairs and tables, making a beeline for the squashy sofa in the corner, Albus pauses and watches him.

This feels like a dream. Scorpius Malfoy, his best friend, who he hasn’t seen in years, is right in front of him, about to have coffee with him, and he can’t believe it. This is a fantasy. This is one of his midnight imaginings coming true. It can’t be real. But then Scorpius flumps down on the sofa, arms flopping to either side, head dropping against the back cushion, relaxing into it, and he turns his head and smiles at Albus, a warm, bright smile, and Albus’s insides flutter. This is so real. Why did he run away from this? This is wonderful.

Albus orders the drinks and joins Scorpius at the table, sinking into the equally squashy armchair opposite him, and they begin to talk.

They talk about nothing in particular. They talk about iced tea, and how nice the loaves of bread they’re selling behind the counter look, and then they talk about Albus’s favourite bakery in Paris, and Scorpius asks about Europe so Albus sketches round the details of that. Not once do they talk about broom racing or the Ministry or the seven year chasm in their friendship. In fact it feels to Albus as if he’s never been away; Scorpius is as easy to talk to as he’s ever been.

There’s a sort of bright, humorous breeziness to everything Scorpius says. He’s full of positivity and light, the way he always has been. It makes it easy for Albus to steer clear of talking about any of his hardships, or any of the darkness in his life. It’s not that he normally talks about those things, he avoids it at all costs, but usually the not talking aches, like there’s so much inside him that he wants to get out but can’t that he feels like he might burst. But with Scorpius it’s as if the bad things simply don’t exist. Scorpius is like a ray of sunshine through a window on a summer’s day, chasing the shadows away and making everything feel warm and bright.

“Did I tell you my dad bought more peacocks?” Scorpius asks after two hours of chatter, stirring the ice cubes left at the bottom of his tea with a straw to make them melt faster so he can drink them.

Albus grins and downs his third shot of espresso. He’s buzzing with giddy happiness, and he can’t tell anymore if it’s the coffee or just Scorpius’s presence.

Scorpius nods. “He did. Without telling me. I came home from work one day and this enormous, iridescent bird was sitting right outside the front door, refusing to let me in.” He leans back in his seat and shakes his head. “They really do have a vendetta against me. But at least the new ones are colourful, not those awful, creepy white things grandfather had.”

“You know,” Albus says, setting his coffee cup down. “There were nights where I’d lie awake wondering how you’d have changed over the years, but you really haven’t.”

“Whereas you’ve changed everything,” Scorpius says, gesturing to him. “Your hair, your eyes, your name...”

Albus doesn’t quite know what to say to that, so he wipes his finger round the inside of his coffee cup to pick up the last dregs of his espresso, while Scorpius noisily sucks up the last bits of melted ice cube through his straw.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Albus asks after a moment of silence. “There’s a really nice park round the corner. I don’t want to- I mean we haven’t even talked about the legal stuff yet. We should do that at some point.”

“We should,” Scorpius agrees. They get up, clear their table, and start walking.

It’s a warm day and the sun is high in the sky above them as they head off along the river beneath leafy trees. Albus rolls the sleeves of his hoodie up to his elbows but it’s not warm enough to need to take it off. Twice their hands brush together as they stroll side by side, and they both murmur apologies and shift apart. In the end it’s Albus who breaks the silence.

“So how did you end up working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? I thought you always wanted to be an Unspeakable.”

Scorpius turns his head away and gazes down at the river burbling gently along beside the path. He seems to hesitate for a moment, then he glances up at Albus and a shaft of sunlight through the trees illuminates his face, making it glow peachy bright, his eyes like slivers of pure silver. “Your dad owed me a favour,” he says.

Albus frowns. “My- What for?”

Scorpius’s smile does that painful, twisted thing again. “You don’t read the papers, do you?”

“I try to avoid it,” Albus says. “For, you know, obvious reasons.”

Scorpius nods. “I recommend keeping it that way.”

Albus scrutinises him carefully, but there’s nothing there to read. He’s as impenetrable right now as Delphi at her best. That must be something else he’s picked up from Draco over the years.

“So now you’re a Ministry official,” he says, knowing that pushing the subject will get him nowhere.

“I am,” Scorpius says. “And you’re an athlete.”

Albus laughs. “I suppose I am, but-“

“You’re Sev,” Scorpius continues. “The most fearless and fearsome illegal broom racer around.”

“I-“

“You’re successful,” Scorpius says, ticking it off on his fingers. “You’re driven. You’re almost unbeatable. From what I’ve heard you’re not finding it difficult to make a living. I’ve read your case file.”

“I- I have a case file?” Albus asks, stopping dead and looking at him. “What does it say?”

Scorpius shrugs. “Pretty much just that. There are photos too, but-“ He holds a hand up when Albus opens his mouth to interrupt. “Don’t panic. No one would know it’s you.”

Albus snaps his mouth shut and considers that for a moment. “Did you?” He asks. “Know it was me? Before you came?”

Scorpius shakes his head. “I thought Sev looked familiar, but I didn’t realise how I recognised him. And then I saw you, and- You’re you. You’re so very you. You can change the colour of your eyes and cut your hair, but you can’t change who you are.”

“Can I see you again?” Albus asks sharply, without thinking first. He turns and looks right at Scorpius as the question spills out. “It’s been seven years. It’s been too long. I didn’t mean to stay away for such a long time. I just...” He trails off, shaking his head, not sure what his excuse is.

“You’ll see me again,” Scorpius says, looking straight ahead down the shadow dappled path. “You’re part of the league I have to shut down. I’m not going to go away.”

Albus swallows. “I mean can I see you again away from the league, away from your work? I didn’t realise how much I missed talking to you.”

“I missed you too,” Scorpius whispers, almost too quietly for Albus to hear. He turns and looks at Albus, and there’s something in his eyes that makes Albus want to reach out and hug him, to start trying to bridge the gap that seven years apart, that Albus’s running away, has torn between them. “I want to think about it,” he murmurs. “I need to think about it.”

“I-“ Albus digs his hands into his pockets and tries not to let it look like his heart has just been shattered. “Okay. I-I understand.”

“And I need you to know,” Scorpius continues, tone strengthening now he’s started speaking, making it sound as though he’s trying to get all the difficult things out of the way in one go. “I need you to know that I _have_ to shut down the league. Whether you’re part of it or not. I really need to do this, Albus. You can’t stop me, I’m sorry. It’s my job and I... I really need to do it well.”

For some reason that doesn’t hurt nearly as much as Scorpius needing time to think about seeing him again, so Albus just nods. “Okay.”

“It’s getting late,” Scorpius says, interrupting the slightly awkward beat of silence that follows. He gets his watch out and his eyes widen. “Shit, it’s getting _really_ late, I didn’t realise. I need to get back to the office, and then home. My dad will be worrying about already. I need to-“

“Do you still live at the Manor?” Albus asks.

Scorpius nods and tucks his watch away. “Yes, I do. I’m sorry, Albus, I have to go now. And don’t you need to go and meet-“

“Delphi,” Albus groans. “I do. I forgot.”

“So we should...” Scorpius gestures over his shoulder down the path, and Albus nods in agreement, but neither of them move. They just stand there beneath the trees, in a warm shaft of evening sunlight, and look at each other.

“Do you have a quill?” Albus asks finally.

Scorpius frowns. “A quill? Yes, of course I-“

“And parchment?”

Scorpius nods. “Yes, but-“

“Can I borrow them?” Albus asks, holding a hand out.

Scorpius gives him a long, perplexed look, then pulls his parchment and quill out of a pocket. “It’s self-inking, so-“

Albus takes them and scribbles his address on the top corner of the parchment. “This is where I live,” he says, handing it back to Scorpius. “So you can find me. Visit me, call me, Owl me, whatever, whenever. If you want.”

Scorpius hovers his hand over the parchment for a moment looking stunned. “Albus...” He says softly. “Albus this is a really bad idea.”

Albus grins. “I’m full of bad ideas. I’m me. Go on, take it.”

Scorpius takes hold of the parchment and stares down at it. “I mean it, Albus. You shouldn’t give me this. There’s... there’s a 100,000 Galleon reward for finding you, and you’ve just... If the wrong people find this... You don’t want to be found, do you?”

“I do,” Albus says, then realises what he’s said and shakes his head. “I mean, I don’t. No. Of course not. I- You’re a Malfoy though. You don’t need the money. You won’t- Will you?”

Scorpius looks up from the paper and there’s a terrifying pause before he speaks. “No,” he says. “I won’t, but Albus... what if someone sees it?”

Albus casts around for a solution to his stupidity. “Memorise it,” he says. “Then eat it. Burn it? Burning it is more sensible, do that. I mean you can eat it if you want, but it probably won’t taste very good. What does parchment even taste of?”

“You’re an idiot,” Scorpius tells him. He looks down at the parchment and falls silent. For several seconds he reads and mouths along with the words. There’s something wonderful about seeing Scorpius painstakingly learning every letter of his address. With every syllable and sound his lips form, every breath of the familiar street name that Albus hears him speak, it feels more and more like Albus has company. It feels like he’s being found, in the best possible way.

Finally Scorpius draws his wand and looks up at Albus. He recites the address once through, perfectly, and when Albus nods, Scorpius waves his wand and the parchment goes up in flames. Scorpius drops it onto the concrete path and they watch it curl up and turn into a little pile of ash, until the flames finally extinguish, and the incriminating words are gone.

“Thank you,” Scorpius says, when there’s nothing left except smoke and memory.

“What for?” Albus asks.

“For making sure you can’t run away again.”

“Not from you at least,” Albus says softly. “Never from you. It wasn’t about you in the first place.” He reaches out a hand towards Scorpius, then thinks better of it and clenches his fist, letting it fall to his side. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Scorpius looks him in the eyes and nods. “See you tomorrow.”


	3. Grounded

_“I-I don’t know where he went,” Scorpius says, voice shaking with fear and choked with tears. “I promise you, he didn’t tell me.”_

“ _But you knew he was leaving?” Professor McGonagall asks, in a calm, almost kind tone that’s a stark contrast to Harry’s rage._

_Scorpius looks up at the three people ranged behind the desk – Professor McGonagall, Harry Potter, and Ginny Potter – and he barely moves his head when he nods._

_The explosion is instant._

_“You didn’t tell anyone!” Harry shouts, voice ringing through the room. “You knew he was going to run away and you didn’t bother to mention it? Not to me or your dad or-“ He rakes his hands hard through his hair, making it stand in end. “This is an admission of guilt. The only person who could have done something and it conveniently slipped his mind to mention it.”_

_Scorpius is trembling now, shaking so hard his teeth are chattering, and he’s afraid his knees might give out, but the nearest thing to hold onto is the edge of Professor McGonagall’s desk, which is far too close to Harry, so he digs his fingernails into the palms of his hands and sways on the spot._

_“Harry,” Ginny says softly. “Please don’t. It’s not his fault.” She’s been crying the whole time too. Her face is red and blotchy, and she’s clutching a soggy handkerchief._

_Harry turns on her. “Scorpius is the last person who saw Albus before he left. Scorpius was awake when he ran. Scorpius knew his plan and didn’t tell anyone. We all know the rumours. Maybe there’s more to this than meets the eye.”_

_Scorpius stares at Harry in abject horror. He wants to argue but there isn’t enough air in the room for him to use to speak, and even if there was he has no idea what he’d stay. Luckily Professor McGonagall is difficult to render speechless. She draws herself up to her full impressive height and faces Harry._

_“Potter. I know that you are extremely upset right now, but if you continue to talk about Scorpius like this I will have to ask you to leave my office.”_

_Harry’s jaw tightens and his eyes narrow. “Fine. I don’t want to be here anyway. I’m going to go to the Ministry, and my Aurors are going to search every inch of this country until we find Albus. And we will find him.” With that he turns on his heel and stalks from the room._

_Three days later, Albus hasn’t been found, and the first headline appears:_ Suspect Number One – The Son of Voldemort

Scorpius slips in through the front door of the Manor as quietly as he can and tiptoes across the hall to the grand staircase. Everything is dark and silent; it’s got very late in the time it’s taken Scorpius to finally walk away from Albus, check in at work, and get back here. His dad should be asleep, but Scorpius has no doubt that he’ll be waiting up somewhere, and he doesn’t need any questions asked, so absolute silence is the best option until he’s ready; until he knows what he’s going to say.

He’s never going to be ready. He’s never going to know what to say. Today has been... today has been a lot.

He sinks onto the bottom step and buries his face in his hands. Behind his closed eyelids he can see the image of Albus, a new permanent imprint. Not Albus as he was, but the Albus of now, with that roughly shaved hair, the murky brown eyes, the silver studs and rings in his ears catching the light, but still small, hunch-shouldered, insecure even in _that_ body, wearing the same forest green hoodie as he’s always worn. An even more striking, disarming version of Albus than the one that’s been living in his memory for so long.

And as he remembers how Albus had tried to reach out to him before they parted, as he remembers how desperately he’d wanted to take the hand that was briefly offered to him, it hits Scorpius that he really, actually saw Albus today. Albus is alive. Albus is real. He knows where Albus lives. He knows how to contact him. Albus is once again a tangible presence in his life. And with that thought the shock and relief and emotion of it all overwhelms him and he starts to sob, noisy, body-shaking sobs. The tears are hot and wet and he’s crying so hard that his face starts to sting. He’s crying so hard that he doesn’t hear the approaching footsteps on the landing above before it’s too late.

“Scorpius?”

He jumps and looks up to see through his tears the blurry outline of his dad standing at the top of the stairs. Instantly he tries to hide his face, and starts scrubbing the tears away on the sleeves of his sky blue work robes.

“Dad,” he says, with a choked half-sob.

The wooden staircase creaks as his dad descends and stops a step above him. “I saw you coming up the driveway,” his dad says. “And I was going to ask how your day was, but I’m assuming it wasn’t-“

“I’m fine,” Scorpius interrupts, sniffing and wiping his nose. “Everything’s fine.”

“You’re crying,” his dad says, moving down onto the same step as him and sitting beside him. “And you’re shaking. You don’t seem fine.” His dad puts a gentle hand on his arm. “Is this to do with work? Was it the league? Did someone hurt you? Attack you? Scorpius-“

“It’s not about that,” Scorpius says, twitching his arm away. “I’m not hurt, or- It’s not about the job. It’s- it’s something else. A-and I’m not upset, I’m just-“ He makes a gesture with his hand and isn’t entirely sure what he means by it. Overwhelmed, probably. Struggling to get his head round everything.

“You can tell me anything,” his dad murmurs, voice soft and warm. It’s a tone Scorpius has become used to hearing from him over the years. It’s comforting. It reminds Scorpius a bit of Astoria; how she used to speak to him when he was having a bad day and she knew he wanted to talk but wanted to make sure he knew he could. There’s an openness to it. No expectation of anything. Only a promise to listen whenever he’s ready.

Scorpius looks at his dad and tries to work out what to say. He appreciates the opportunity to talk, of course he does, but that doesn’t mean that he can say what he needs to say. This isn’t just about him anymore.

“Something happened,” he says carefully. “At the grounds. I-I saw something I didn’t expect to see. It was a lot to take in. That’s all.”

His dad purses his lips. “That’s rather cryptic.”

“I know.” Scorpius bows his head. “I know, but I can’t... I can’t say more.”

“Was it something bad that you saw?” His dad asks, and Scorpius realises from the worry in his eyes that he’s thinking of bodies or torture or something equally horrific.

“No!” Scorpius says quickly. “No no. Nothing bad. It was-“ He looks at his dad, and he realises that more than anything in the world he needs to say aloud what’s happened. He needs to tell someone. Because at the moment it’s this bizarre thing that’s locked away inside him, almost like a dream, but if he says it aloud then that will make it real, and he desperately needs this to be real.

“I found Albus, Dad,” he breathes.

For a moment Draco stares at him in silence, and Scorpius wonders whether he’s actually heard. Then Draco draws in a long breath.

“Did you just say... that you found Albus?”

Scorpius swallows and nods. “He was with the league. We went for coffee and a walk. He told me where he lives. We-“ He wants to tell his dad about how Albus looks now, how Albus still knows about his love of iced tea, how they’d talked for hours like they’d never been away. But his dad’s face looks like thunder, so he bites his tongue and waits for the explosion.

“You know where he lives?” His dad asks, and there’s a hopeful urgency in his tone that Scorpius knows isn’t good.

“Yes, he told me, but-“

Draco gets to his feet and strides across to the coat stand by the door. “Come on, get a coat. We’re going to tell Potter.”

“No!” Scorpius flies to his feet and stands firm on the steps, not moving an inch. “Dad, no. I’m not telling Harry where Albus lives. And you’re not either.”

Draco folds a long, black coat over his arm and faces Scorpius. “You have one of the most brilliant minds I’ve ever encountered,” he says. “I know I don’t need to tell you what taking this information to Potter could do for you. This is an opportunity, Scorpius. This is a brilliant opportunity. You can clear your name. I bet he’d even promote you for this. You could have everything you’ve always deserved.”

Scorpius twists his hands together and interweaves his fingers. “I-I know,” he murmurs. “Dad, I know. I’ve thought about it. But... it’s Albus. He’s Albus. He’s- I can’t do that to him. I can’t betray him like that.”

“He betrayed you,” Draco points out, taking a step back towards Scorpius.

“He didn’t mean to,” Scorpius argues. “He was running away. He didn’t know how things would turn out. No, I’m not doing this.” He moves one step down the stairs, so he and his dad are exactly the same height, and he can look his dad squarely in the eye. “You know what he means to me, even after all this time.”

There’s a pause, then Draco sets his coat aside and walks back towards Scorpius. “What _does_ he mean to you, after all this time?”

Scorpius puts a hand on the bannister and grips it tight. “He means... I don’t think I can explain it yet. But I think...” He slides his palm over the smooth, varnished wood, inspecting the fine grain and watching the dust swirl away into the air. Finally he looks up at his dad. “I think I’d like the chance to find out. And if I do this I know I’ll never get that.”

His dad scrutinises him, piercing silver eyes cutting deep into his soul, and Scorpius is more than happy to let his dad find whatever he needs to there. Whatever it is – strength, love, determination – his dad needs to find enough of it, with so much conviction, that he can’t say no.

Finally the sharp gaze softens, and his dad nods. He crosses the rest of the space between them and stands at the bottom of the stairs, looking at Scorpius. When he speaks his voice is low and full of concern. “I need you to promise me that you’re going to be exceptionally careful around Albus Potter. We both know what he can do to you, how much he can hurt you. I don’t want to see you hurt like that again.”

Scorpius rubs his fingers together and looks down at his feet. He remembers only too well what it feels like to have his heart obliterated by Albus Severus Potter. But he’s older now, and stronger. His heart is in his own hands, and he gets to decide what happens to it. He’s not going to let anyone break it again. Not even Albus.

He lifts his chin and looks his dad in the eye. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

His dad gives a curt nod. “Good.”

Albus walks through the city as the sun sets. His head is buzzing. His feet don’t want to stay still. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone or see anyone. The longer he stays alone and free to roam the city, the longer it’ll take for the bubble to burst. He wants to keep feeling like this, like his heart is full to the point of bursting, like he’s found some sort of tether to his old life and it’s stopping him floating away forever. He feels grounded, and for the first time in a very long time he’s very much okay with that.

His feet take him to the edge of the bay, and he stands among the flowing tides of Muggles making their way between bars and restaurants, enjoying each other’s company, and leans against the railing so he can stare down at the dark water lapping below. A fresh breeze blows on his face and the moon shines down overhead. Everything in his carefully created world is different now. Scorpius has smashed through his walls with ease, and now Albus doesn’t quite know who he is or who he wants to be. He feels wrong footed. But at the same time he feels very very right.

He rests his forehead on the cool metal railing and breathes in lungfuls of salty sea air. Despite everything, he doesn’t feel off balance or confused. In fact there’s an intense clarity to his emotions right now, and it’s that which he doesn’t quite know how to deal with. There’s too much going on in his brain to process any of it, and the knowledge that he needs to go and find Delphi isn’t helping. She’s the last person on earth he wants to see right now. But he also really doesn’t need to end up fighting with her, and in the end that’s why he turns his back on the sea and starts walking back towards the training grounds, carefully locking all his emotions about Scorpius (Scorpius _Scorpius_ ) away to deal with later.

He finds a quiet street and Apparates the rest of the way once he’s ready, and when he appears outside the gates she’s sitting there waiting for him, perched atop the wall, swinging her feet back and forth, the heels of her boots knocking against the bricks. When she sees Albus she folds her arms and her expression turns to one of supreme irritation.

“And where in Merlin’s name have you been for the past seven hours?”

“I was walking,” Albus says. “Sorry I’m late.” He goes over and tries to kiss her on the cheek, but she catches hold of the front of his shirt and shoves him away hard, so he reels back and stumbles off the edge of the pavement into the road. She may not look it but she’s very strong.

“No,” she says. “Not today. I’m not happy with you, Albus.”

He sighs and runs a hand over his prickly mess of hair. “I know. Delphi, I’m sorry. I lost track of time, and then I needed to think. A lot has happened today and-“

“You needed to think about Scorpius Malfoy,” Delphi says, hopping down from the wall and glaring at him. “Am I right?”

“Well, yes,” Albus admits. “But-“

“You do _not_ need to think about Scorpius Malfoy,” she says, stalking across the pavement towards him, so he stumbles back several more steps – it’s a good thing this street’s always so quiet. “Do you understand me, Sev? Scorpius Malfoy doesn’t ever need to enter your thinking, because he is in your past, and this is your future, and what do we say about the future?” She looks at him expectantly, eyes bright, and he knows what he’s supposed to say, but he can’t make himself do it.

“Delphi, this isn’t about the past, or-“

“Albus Severus Potter,” she says, in a dangerously low voice that makes his heart race.

“Don’t say my name,” he murmurs, unable to make himself look at her.

“Then tell me what we say about the future,” she replies, in a soft, light tone of voice that sends shivers down his spine.

“The future is ours to make,” he mutters, staring down at the ground. His cheeks are burning, and he feels angry and humiliated, both by his own stupidity and by this feeling she sometimes gives him that he’s weak and useless; that he lets her down in everything he does. He’s let her down today, he knows that, even though he can’t help but feel that maybe he hasn’t let himself down, but maybe his standards are lower than hers.

She steps up to him and puts a gentle finger beneath his chin, lifting it so she can look into his eyes, and he lets her, even though he doesn’t like it, even though right now he hates her a little bit.

“This is your future,” she says softly, in a voice that usually makes his stomach swoop, but today just makes him feel queasy. “Albus. Sev. You’ve found where you belong. Those people from your past never really cared about you. They made you run away, and we found you and gave you a home. You don’t need Scorpius, Sev. He’s part of a past that was so unkind to you. Leave him there. Please. For you. Don’t let him break your heart again.”

She’s right. It would be far more sensible to leave Scorpius behind and stop thinking about him. It would be easier to keep running like he has for the past seven years. But what she doesn’t understand is that Scorpius never hurt him, Scorpius never broke his heart. Of all the memories he has of his past, the ones of Scorpius are the very best. Having Scorpius back in his life isn’t going to hurt him, it’s going to heal him.

“The future is mine to make,” he murmurs, a little stronger this time.

He wants Scorpius Malfoy in his future. He always has.

“Yes it is,” Delphi whispers, cupping his face gently in both hands, her fingers soft against his cheeks.

He closes his hands over hers, and meets her eyes. “I’m sorry I took so long to get here.” He lets his fingers entwine with hers, and gently removes her hands from his cheeks. He doesn’t let go though, he keeps holding her hands, turning her palms upwards so he can run his thumbs over them. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“I wasn’t waiting the whole time,” Delphi says, expression brightening. She gives a little shrug and frees her hands from his. “I was actually talking to some people. I’ve arranged a little meeting. Some sponsors want to see you. Tonight, in fact. Will you come?”

Albus digs his hands into his pockets. He can hardly say no to her now, after everything that’s happened. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a little bar,” she says. “In London, The Scythe. We’re going there.”

Albus smiles. “Sounds like a cheery place.”

Delphi smirks. “Oh it is. Come on.” She grabs hold of his hand and they Disapparate.

The outside of the bar is dingy and grim. Albus knows they’re in Knockturn Alley because there’s nowhere else he’s ever been on earth that’s so shadow strewn and dirty but still bustling with people. Delphi looks incredibly pleased with herself as she leads the way inside. They go through a black door beneath a peeling sign in the shape of a scythe, which creaks as it swings in the summer breeze.

Inside, the bar isn’t actually that bad. Albus has learned never to judge an establishment by its exterior. Lots of these places look awful outside by design. It’s meant to discourage anyone unwanted from coming in. Some of the most exclusive clubs he’s been to have had doors beside dustbins. There was even one in Russia where they had to climb through a manhole into an abandoned sewer to get in, and that was a beautiful place with opulent chandeliers and gold leaf everywhere.

The Scythe has low ceilings and the windows are entirely blacked out. There’s a deep purple enchanted light bathing the whole bar. Thick, sweet smelling smoke hangs in the air, and Albus isn’t sure whether it’s safe to breathe, but thankfully before he has chance to worry, Delphi tugs on his hand and leads him up a set of black painted stairs to a secluded, smoke-free upstairs room.

This upstairs space is small and intimate, with a spindly black table and chairs, whose backs and legs look as though they’ve been sharpened into skewers. This room is lit in silver, like it’s flooded with pale moonlight, and there’s a single bartender standing behind the tiny private bar. He’s not the only person in the room; a pair of figures sit at the table, sipping blood red wine from delicate glasses.

Delphi swoops over to them. “I see you’ve started without us,” she says. “I hope there’s some wine left.”

The two of them get to their feet, and one – a woman with her blonde hair up in a serpentine coil on top of her head and held with a single pin that’s set with a sparkling emerald – moves to embrace Delphi.

“Evelyn,” Delphi says brightly, kissing her on both cheeks.

“Delphini. You’ve grown. Although your dress sense is still terrible. You could look so nice if you tried, and if you spent a little money.”

Delphi laughs, a bubbly, high-pitched laugh that Albus suspects might be fake. “If only I had a little money.”

“Nonsense,” Evelyn says, batting her away. “From what I’ve heard you’re doing remarkably well for yourself these days.”

“Because she’s not spending all her money on clothes,” says the second person – a tall man with the same blond hair as the woman, and a face that is almost too sharp and defined to be handsome, a little stark and somehow haughty. “Little sister,” he says, taking Delphi’s hand and kissing it.

Albus blinks in surprise. He knows nothing about Delphi’s family. The idea of her having relatives, siblings, is too bizarre to comprehend. He’d thought she was just like him, a loner without a family.

“I’m not your sister,” Delphi chides, pulling her hand away. “As you well know, Aloysius.”

He smiles. “Cousin, then. It’s been a long time. I hear you’ve been abroad.”

“Europe,” Delphi says. “Exploring the business opportunities there. With-“ She turns and gestures to Albus. “My protégé, colleague, and friend. This is Sev.”

Albus steps forward and shakes both their hands. “Pleased to meet you Evelyn, Aloysius.”

“So this is the famous Sev,” Aloysius says, crushing Albus’s hand in his grip. “You’re smaller than you look when you’re flying.”

Albus gives him a smile that doesn’t nearly reach his eyes, and digs the tips of his fingers into the soft parts of Aloysius’s hand, hoping to bruise. They both hold on for a second longer before they let go. “Small is helpful,” he says. “I’m more manoeuvrable than everyone else. And aerodynamic. It helps me to win.”

“That’s good,” Evelyn says, “because winning is what we’re interested in. Will you sit and join us for a drink?”

Albus and Delphi both sit, and Albus busies himself with drinking away as much of Evelyn and Aloysius’s money as he can. The wine is expensive, he can tell, and the meeting is dull – he hates business talk – so drinking is the only way to liven it up.

“We were just talking about the Ministry,” Evelyn says. “They’ve been conducting more raids around here. It’s a good job that this place hasn’t been touched yet. I’d hate for anything to happen to it.”

Delphi rolls her eyes. “They’re interfering everywhere. We had a visit today from Magical Law Enforcement, didn’t we, Sev?”

Albus looks up from his wine and nods. “We did.”

Delphi looks at him like she expects more, but Albus doesn’t know what else to say. In the end she takes over.

“They’re trying to shut down the league, but we’re not going to let them. There are a lot of people invested in the racing. We need it to survive.”

Evelyn shakes her head. “Potter likes to interfere.”

“He does.” Delphi gives Albus a pointed look, and he nods quickly.

“He- He hurts people,” he says. “He makes things difficult. I’ve never known why everyone loves him so much. I... I certainly don’t.” He drains his wine glass, and the bartender comes over to fill it up for him.

“Harry Potter doesn’t have many fans here,” Delphi says with a grim smile. “We hate him.”

Albus thinks that hate is a very strong word, but then he thinks about all the fights he had with his dad, all the pain Harry caused him over the years, and he nods. Delphi looks satisfied.

“Anyway, we didn’t come here to talk about Harry Potter. As irritating as he is.” She fishes a little black book out of her pocket and carefully flips to a marked page. “There are plans to discuss.”

Albus has never seen the book before, and he’s curious about what plans Delphi has – she doesn’t normally show or tell him anything beyond the things that directly and imminently concern him – but when he tries to look over her shoulder she inches the book away. At that point talk turns to business, and he stops paying much attention.

He’s vaguely aware of them talking about him and the league, and about ‘furthering Delphi’s interests’ whatever that means – probably just giving her more money. The day has been too long for him to be bothered with following complex negotiations, and by the time he’s drained the bottle of wine he has no hope. It all sounds important, he probably should know what they’re saying about him, especially what Delphi is agreeing to on his behalf, but he can’t gather his brain together enough to comprehend.

At some point someone slides him a shot of something, or maybe there’s more than one shot over the course of the evening – and he downs it without much thought. His mind is elsewhere, somewhere in heaven, if heaven is a leafy park in Cardiff with Scorpius Malfoy.

All he wants to do right now is go and lock himself away safe in his house and lie awake for hours thinking about Scorpius’s face, and his hair, and his height, and how much he’s grown up over the years. He might also want to run up to the Manor and… But even his alcohol sodden brain knows that that would be a very stupid thing to do. What he doesn’t want to do is sit here and listen to Delphi talk business until he falls asleep.

He gets to his feet, and he knows it must have been an unexpected movement, because the other three are all looking at him.

“I’m going to the toilet,” he lies. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Will you be okay?” Delphi asks, and Albus sighs.

“I’m an adult. I think I can manage to go to the toilet without everyone worrying about me.”

When they’d arrived, Albus hadn’t realised how uneven the floor is in this little upstairs room. He realises now though, as he stumbles his way across it, trailing his hand against the wall. The stairs creak as he carefully descends, off balance and trying not to fall headlong down the whole flight. When he reaches the bottom someone takes hold of his arm, someone tall and blond and skinny, and for a mad second he thinks Scorpius is there steadying him, but of course Scorpius wouldn’t be in Knockturn Alley, and when Albus looks up he’s disappointed to see an unfamiliar face.

“Are you alright?” The man asks.

“Why does everyone keep asking that?” Albus wonders aloud. “I’m fine. I’m going home. Can I Apparate in here?”

“I don’t think Apparating is the best-“

“Well going by Floo will make me throw up,” Albus says, pulling his arm away. “I’ll go outside. Thank you.”

The blond man follows him to the door. “Be careful,” he says, holding the door as Albus trips on the threshold and stumbles out into the cool night air. “Don’t Splinch yourself.”

Albus pulls a face. “I hope not. I hate Apparating. And I’m terrible at it. This can only go well.” He digs in his pocket and pulls out a couple of Sickles, which he presses into the man’s hand. “You’re not Scorpius but I like you. Have a drink on me.”

The man laughs. “Thanks. Who’s Scorpius?”

“Someone special,” Albus tells him. “Someone I missed.” And, because he’s drunk, and the man is the closest to Scorpius he’s going to get tonight, he leans in and kisses the man on the cheek. “See you, Not-Scorpius.” Then he stumbles round on the spot and by some miracle manages to Apparate home in one piece.

It takes him ten minutes to find his keys, and another five to get the door unlocked. When he’s inside he goes to the kitchen to find some water but instead discovers one of the really good bottles of local beer that he’s kept for a rainy day. He’s missed the stuff so much while he’s been away that he starts drinking again. After that he doesn’t remember much, and the next thing he knows he’s bathed in dazzling morning sunlight and his head really hurts.

With a groan he rolls onto his front and buries his face in his pillow – how he made it to bed he doesn’t know. He doesn’t feel entirely human right now. He feels like hell. His mouth is dry, his head is aching, he can’t tell if he’s about to throw up or whether he’s starving hungry, plus his scars are prickling again. It’s not a great start to the day.

He drags himself upright and runs his fingers over his head, then he looks up and checks the time. Already early afternoon, which means he’s late for training. Really late. Several hours late. Maybe it’s late enough to decide not to go... Hopefully it is.

He staggers upright and goes in search of water, food, and Painkilling Potion. About half an hour later he’s feeling at least vaguely human, enough to decide that even if he’s not going to the training ground, he should at least go flying. He’s supposed to race later, assuming Scorpius hasn’t shut everything down by then, and-

Scorpius.

That happened yesterday. Scorpius happened. And now Albus remembers why he was drinking. It all comes flooding back in an instant, and he sinks onto the edge of his kitchen table and buries his face in his hands. He’s woken up hungover in a different world. What does he do now?

_You fly_ , he tells himself. _Like you’ve always done._

So he Disillusions himself, grabs his broom, and takes flight from his bedroom window, disappearing up into the clouds above the city.

There’s something about flying that’s always cleared his head. It’s easier to think up here. Among the clouds the troubles of the world melt away, and he can focus on what he needs to focus on, and what he needs to focus on now is working out what exactly Scorpius being back in his life means.

After he ran away he decided that he would never see any of them again. It had to be that way. As unhappy as he was, he knew that if he didn’t have a clean break then he’d end up falling back into his old life. His future had to be a completely blank slate, and that meant he wouldn’t see any of his family again, not Lily and James, not even his mum, and it meant he wouldn’t see Scorpius again.

But now... well now he has seen Scorpius again, and there’s no going back from that. And if he’s seen Scorpius again then what does that mean for the rest of his life? What does that mean for his mum, who he’s missed so desperately for so long? What does it mean for Lily and James? He’d like to know what they’re doing these days at least. What does it mean for his dad, who’s Scorpius’s boss? If Scorpius agrees to keep seeing him, if Albus becomes a temporary, or even more a permanent, fixture in Scorpius’s life then surely his dad will find out at some point, and that’s a terrifying thought.

When Albus was little he and James would build elaborate houses out of Exploding Snap cards, and at some point, no matter how careful they were, there would always be a single spark from one of the cards that would blow the whole pile sky high. Albus suspects that Scorpius is his spark.

He’s spent years creating an elaborate new life for himself, away from everyone he’s ever known and loved, and now, with the acceptance of this one person back into his life, the whole thing is going to come crashing down around him, and the worst thing is that he can’t bring himself to mind too much. Anything is worth it for Scorpius.

And maybe it’s an opportunity too. He really _has_ missed his mum, and if he’s letting one person back into his life then why not two?

Under his bed at home there’s a little box full of letters. His parents have an exceptionally clever owl, and she’s managed to find him even without an address on several occasions. He’s had cards from his mum for each of his birthdays, and for Christmas too, and he’s had short letters from her at other times during the year as well. He doesn’t read them – he could never bring himself to do it – but he keeps them locked away in the box, because he’s never been able to bring himself to throw them away either.

He writes his own letters too. Whenever he feels lonely or upset or lost he pours all his feelings out in words to her. He doesn’t send any of the letters – they’re locked in the box too – but it helps to pour his heart out to someone. It would be even better to talk to her in person though, and he misses her hugs. Her hugs were the warmest, most comfortable things in the world. It’s been a long time since he experienced a hug like that.

If the future is his to make, and he wants Scorpius to be part of it, then he wants his mum to be there too. It’s not his ideal future without her.

So perhaps this is what having Scorpius back in his life means: a life full of everyone he’s missed all these years. And if that’s what having Scorpius back means then he’s even more determined to make it happen.

He sinks down below the clouds to check where he’s got to, and he realises as he does that this whole time he’s been flying arrow straight. Below him is a familiar little village, with its pub and post office and village green. And there’s the winding road leading out of the village towards the two houses perched at either ends of a shared meadow and orchard. The rickety, multi-storey construction of The Burrow, so clearly magical, with the extra rooms tacked on the sides in the most impossible arrangement. And on the other side of the orchard, the low, two-storey farmhouse, with climbing roses scrambling up the walls and around the door, holly bushes lining the path, and the broom-shed round the side that Albus would hide in when things got too much inside the house. Holly Cottage. His parents’ home.

The second he realises where he is he nearly falls off his broom, but he manages to cling on, and he starts fumbling in his pocket for his wand. He needs to make sure he’s definitely Disillusioned because there are people in his parents’ garden, and the last thing he needs is for someone to look up and recognise him.

He pulls his wand out and taps himself twice on the head, muttering the charm. Then he does it again for good measure, and a third time. Definitely invisible. Definitely.

He tucks his wand away and catches his breath, leaning forward on his broom to peer down into the garden, even though he knows it’s the last thing in the world he should be doing. Immediately he recognises his mum’s flaming red hair, and he grips the handle of his broom as tight as he can in both hands and rests his chin on the varnished wood, staring at her, trying to drink in every last distant detail of the way she’s sweeping up blossom and stray bits of mown grass. And then he focuses in on the other figure, and with a sickening lurch of his stomach he recognises his dad’s messy black hair, the grey of his waistcoat, the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There’s earth on his dad’s hands, and it looks like he’s- Despite himself Albus grins as he sees his dad pluck a gnome from the ground and start swinging it around. His dad is de-gnoming the garden.

He floats steady in midair, watching. His parents are chatting away as they work. He can tell his dad is complaining about the gnomes, and his mum is laughing. They look so happy and relaxed together. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen them like this. Is this what they’re like without him in their lives? Has him leaving made things easier for them?

His vision starts to blur, and he tilts his head, resting his forehead against his broom handle and closing his eyes as tears choke him. Maybe they don’t need him. Him coming back might be what he wants, but... But what about them?

He swallows hard and forces himself to keep watching. He sees his dad wipe the dirt off his hands and onto his trousers. He sees his mum go over and bat at his hands, pointing towards the open back door. His dad catches hold of her and kisses her, then he releases her and disappears inside, leaving her alone, smiling after him. But then, as the kitchen door closes he sees her sigh and pause for a moment in her sweeping. He sees her lean her chin on top of her broom, and now it’s like all the weight of the world is on her, compressing her, making her shoulders sag and her head bow. And it might be wishful thinking, but he wonders if the happiness he saw before was as much an act as the one he puts on to convince Delphi, the world, and sometimes himself that things are okay. Maybe his parents are hurting just as much as he is.

He drifts an inch lower on his broom, drawn in by the scene below. But as he does, his mum suddenly looks up. She looks to his left, then she looks past him, and then she looks right at him, and he stares back, meeting her eyes. And even though he knows she can’t see him, that he’s invisible, his heart still pounds in his chest and he turns and flees as fast as he can.

By the time he gets home his Disillusionment is wearing off, so he dives from the clouds to ground and lands behind a bank of bushes in a park near his house. It’s a mostly magical neighbourhood, so he doesn’t worry too much about being seen with his broom as he walks home, but he’s still glad that it’s quiet around.

As he walks he reels from the near miss with his mum. He knows she can’t have seen him, but she looked _right_ at him. If his charm was even a little bit shoddy she might have glimpsed an outline or something. It was stupid to fly so low. He should have stayed in the clouds and not hung around. After seven years of being so careful he’s going to get found, not because he lets himself be but because he’s too stupid to control his curiosity.

He’s so frustrated with himself that he’s not paying attention to where he’s walking, and the next thing he knows he’s walked straight into someone coming out of one of the side streets.

“Shit,” Albus says, reeling backwards. “Sorry, I wasn’t-“

“You know, you’re a lot easier to find than everyone’s been thinking for the last seven years. This is the second time I’ve run into you accidentally in two days.”

Scorpius is grinning at him, and he doesn’t seem at all upset that Albus has just nearly sent him flying.

“Oh,” Albus says, blinking at him in surprise. “It’s- it’s you. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to find out why you weren’t at the training ground today,” Scorpius says brightly. “I missed you.” His tone softens and his smile dissipates a bit. “I was worried something had happened to you. Are you okay?”

Albus sighs and shifts his broom to his other hand. “Let’s see. I’m hungover, I slept in until about two in the afternoon, I just saw my parents for the first time in seven years, and I got the fright of my life when I thought my mum had spotted me. I can’t say it’s been the best day so far.”

Scorpius’s eyes widen. “You went to see your parents?”

“Not on purpose,” Albus says quickly. “By accident.” He sets off walking again, holding his broom over his shoulder.

“How do you accidentally go and see your parents?” Scorpius asks.

“I was thinking-“

“Dangerous.”

Albus elbows him in the ribs. “I was flying and thinking about what might happen now you’re- now I’ve seen you again. I was thinking about how I want my life to be. And I sort of ended up there... by accident...”

Scorpius looks at him for a long moment, lips slightly parted, like he’s about to say something but never gets there. Finally he swallows. “You mentioned you’re hungover. Do you want to go and get coffee?”

Albus groans. “That sounds like heaven. Let me dump my broom and I’ll come.”

“Okay,” Scorpius says softly. “Let’s do that.”

Ten minutes later they’re sitting in Albus’s favourite coffee shop. Albus is nursing a cappuccino, and Scorpius is meticulously making himself the milkiest, sugariest, weakest cup of tea Albus has ever had the misfortune to encounter. It looks foul, and it’s certainly a waste of a number of excellent tea leaves. Scorpius has always been like this with his tea, but Albus thinks it might have got worse over the past few years.

“So,” Scorpius says finally, giving his disgusting creation one final stir before licking the spoon and setting it down on the edge of his tea cup. “Why are you hungover? Is this what illegal broom racers do?”

Albus rolls his eyes. “Not every night. Delphi wanted me to go to a business meeting. Drinking was the only way to liven it up.”

Scorpius smirks at him. “You got drunk at a business meeting.”

Albus takes a sip of his coffee and tries to look lofty. “In my defence, the business meeting took place in a bar, and our sponsors were buying the drinks. I just took advantage.”

“You could say you made a shrewd business decision,” Scorpius says, still smirking as he blows on his tea to cool it.

“Exactly,” Albus says, licking his foam moustache away.

“And... your parents,” Scorpius says, smirk fading. “You said your mum almost saw you. Albus...”

“I was invisible,” Albus says, wiping his finger round the rim of his cup to scrape up some of the foam before it dries out. “But she looked right at me. I don’t think she saw... I can’t tell though. I’m really terrible at magic, Scorpius, even Disillusionment Charms, and I practice them all the time.”

“You were never that bad,” Scorpius says, fiddling with the lid of his teapot. “You just lacked confidence.” He looks up at Albus. “I think you could have been brilliant if you’d been able to realise how capable you were. I think you still could be. If circumstances changed.”

Albus shakes his head. “I don’t know. I try, I- I’m good at flying, Scorpius. That’s about it. Even Delphi says so.”

Scorpius picks his teacup up and takes a sip. “Disillusionment Charms are NEWT level magic. There are wizards at work who can’t do those, and it sounds like you’re using them routinely.” He gives a small shrug. “Just saying.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Albus says forcefully, wanting to change the subject. “The point is that I nearly gave myself away, but...” He twists his cup around in his hands and stares down at the bits of chocolate still sprinkled across the top of the foam. “But it was nice to see them. To see her. I’ve missed her a lot. There are things I’d like to talk to her about. Lots of things.”

“She’s missed you too,” Scorpius murmurs. “I’ve never spoken to her, but I know... I know she’d give anything to have you back. I think if you wanted to talk to her you could. I think she’d be safe. I don’t think she’d turn you in, or... She loves you, Albus. A lot. She’d want you to be happy.”

Albus runs the tip of his finger over the foam, scraping up those last bits of chocolate and trying to imagine what it would be like to actually talk to his mum again. It seems like an impossible dream. Terrifying. An insurmountable challenge. But it might be worth it...

He shakes himself and looks up at Scorpius. “What happened at the training ground? Did I miss anything exciting?”

“Not really.” Scorpius leans back in his seat, holding his teacup delicately between his hands and frowning as he tries to remember. “I was fact finding. People were surprisingly helpful, once I threatened to arrest them on the spot.” He shoots Albus an angelic smile, and Albus stares at him.

“Are you allowed to do that?” Albus asks. “Arrest people?”

Scorpius shrugs and sips his tea. “I work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Arresting people is sort of what we do.”

“You haven’t arrested me yet,” Albus says.

A smile spreads across Scorpius’s face, and there’s a new gleam in his eyes. “Do you want me to?”

Albus pulls a face at him. “Not particularly.”

“And if I was going to arrest you,” Scorpius says, “what would I arrest you for?”

Albus considers for a moment. “Well I’m an illegal broom racer, so that’s a good place to start. I’m also a runaway. I Apparate without a license. I’m a magical liability. I’m generally a bit of a disaster. I think I’d arrest me for my own safety.”

“I told you,” Scorpius says, “you’re not a liability, you just lack confidence. I’ll tutor you if you want.”

Albus blinks at him. “Will you?”

Scorpius smiles. “I might make you pay me, but of course I will.”

“How much?” Albus asks.

Scorpius scrutinises him for a moment. “I’ll think about it. As for the other things, running away isn’t illegal, just ill advised. The broom racing thing... I’m dealing with that. I hope I won’t have to arrest you... Apparating without a license is just idiotic, but I know you’ve had the lessons at least, and it’s fairly obvious why you’re doing it. And you being a disaster isn’t a criminal offence, it’s a personality trait. So really,” Scorpius flashes him a bright smile. “I think you’re safe from me.”

“I also really want to kiss you,” Albus says. He knows he says it rather than thinking it because he hears the words float out of his mouth, and once they’re out he can’t take them back, so while his cheeks feel like they’ve been burned by Fiendfyre, he busies himself drinking his coffee as fast as he can so he can make a run for it.

“That’s also not a criminal offence,” Scorpius points out after several seconds of stunned silence. “I can’t arrest you for that. I can’t even blame you. I have been told I’ve grown into a rather handsome young man.”

Albus looks up at him. “Who told you that? I mean it’s true, but-“

Scorpius grins. “My dad.”

“Oh.” Albus sets his coffee cup down and gets to his feet. “I should probably leave now, I- What time is it?”

Scorpius glances down at his watch. “Nearly six. You have a race tonight, don’t you?”

“Yes, and I should have been there an hour ago. Shit. I need to go home, and- I need to go.” He runs for the door, glad to have an excuse to run away that isn’t just his own idiocy. He makes it outside and turns a circle on the doorstep, perplexed and dizzied and overwhelmed by the past couple of hours. This is what being around Scorpius does to him. He can’t function anymore. Or maybe he’s never been able to function and Scorpius has made it worse.

He’s still dithering and trying to work out if he actually needs to go home and get anything, or if he can Apparate straight to the stadium, when the door opens behind him with a soft tinkle of the bell, and Scorpius joins him on the doorstep.

“I thought you were late,” he says.

“I am, I’m-“ Albus nods. “I’m going. I just don’t know which direction I’m going in.”

Scorpius takes a breath. “Well, while you’re standing here dithering, I just thought I’d let you know that I’d quite like to kiss you too.”

Albus stops dead on the spot and stares at him. “What?”

Scorpius nods. “It might not help you make a decision about where you’re going, but-“ He takes a step closer to Albus and reaches out to touch his cheek. As his fingers make contact Albus’s body freezes up, from shock and amazement and sheer delight.

Scorpius looks him right in the eyes, and this close up Albus can see that his irises aren’t really grey or silver. They’re a very pale blue, and there are bits of sea green too, and tiny flecks of brown, and the myriad colours are even more beautiful than pure silver or pure grey.

“Is this okay?” Scorpius whispers, studying Albus carefully.

All of Albus’s vocabulary has disappeared in the last two seconds. His brain has gone into meltdown. He doesn’t remember how to speak or really do anything. So instead of trying to answer, he stretches up on tiptoes, cups Scorpius’s face in his hands, and kisses him solidly.

Scorpius inhales, lips parting, and his fingertips press into Albus’s cheek. Albus tightens his hands around Scorpius’s face, holding him steady, and he dares to run his tongue along Scorpius’s bottom lip, feeling its warmth, wondering if he’s just imagining the taste of tea. He deepens the kiss, wanting to taste more, wanting to find out exactly what every inch of Scorpius’s lips feel like and taste of, but by some miracle Scorpius’s brain is still intact, because at that point he pushes Albus very gently away.

“Y-you have to go,” Scorpius says, voice shaking. “You have a race. Albus.”

Albus drops his hands to the collar of Scorpius’s robes and grips him, trying to steady himself. “Shit. I do.”

“Go,” Scorpius says, pushing at his chest. “Go and fly.”

Albus draws in a long breath and doesn’t let go. He doesn’t want to. Once again he has that sense of being grounded here with Scorpius, tethered to himself and to his life. “Right. I’m going.”

Scorpius smiles and brushes his fingers along Albus’s jaw. “You don’t look like you’re going.”

Albus lifts his head and looks him in the eye. “I’ll win for you.”

Scorpius’s hand slides down to his shoulder. “Just be safe. There’s a reason it’s illegal.” He hesitates for a moment, then leans in and plants another soft, sweet, breathtaking kiss on Albus’s lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Albus releases him and stumbles back a couple of steps, head spinning. “Yes,” he says. “See you- see you tomorrow.” And he turns on the spot and Disapparates.


	4. Waiting

_Albus is sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor, surrounded by a mountain of all his possessions, when Ginny knocks on the door. He looks up at her, and there’s a flash of panic in his eyes as he leaps to his feet and starts throwing socks into his trunk._

_“I’m packing,” he says. “I am. You don’t need to-“_

_Her heart breaks at the sight of him trying so hard to convince her that he’s doing the right thing. She knows all too well how hard this is for him. She’ll never be upset at him for finding it difficult to get ready to go back to school, but maybe she hasn’t done a good enough job of telling him that._

_“I’m not here to tell you off,” she says softly, taking a cautious step into the room. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”_

_He stops packing and stands there for a moment, then he starts messing with a hole in the toe of the sock he’s holding and his shoulders collapse. “I don’t know what I need to take,” he says in a very small voice. “I-I don’t know... I don’t think I can do this.” His head bows onto his chest and he curls in on himself as his body begins to shake with sobs. He sinks onto the bed and pulls his knees up to his chin, hiding his face._

_“Albus,” she breathes. “Sweetheart.” She picks her way through the mess on his floor and sinks onto the bed beside him. When he doesn’t shuffle away from her she reaches out and puts a hand on his arm, then slides her arm round his back and gathers him to her. He curls up in her arms as easily as he did when he was still a baby, and holds onto the front of her jumper as he sobs into her shoulder._

_“I-I don’t want to go, Mum. I don’t want to-“ He gulps in a breath, and she grips him tighter and kisses the top of his head._

_“I know,” she murmurs. “I know.”_

_She doesn’t know what else to say besides that. She’s his mum, she should have the right words to fix everything, but this is one of the times when she really doesn’t. He’s desperately unhappy, that’s plain to see, but she’s powerless to do anything about it. They’ve already talked about him staying home from school, but he’s always refused, and now she’s running out of options to help beyond just holding him while he cries._

_“You don’t have to go,” she murmurs, brushing her fingers through his hair._

_“Y-yes I do,” he sniffles. “I do. I-I can’t stay here.”_

_“At least Scorpius is at school,” she says._

_Albus gives a hiccupping little sob and nods. “H-he is.” He draws in a shaking breath and pulls out of her arms, stumbling to his feet. He wipes his nose and eyes on his sleeve and starts looking around at the mess on the floor. “I need- I don’t know what I need.”_

_Ginny gets to her feet and picks up his folded up robes and school uniform, complete with emerald green tie and jumper. “These are a good start. And you need socks and underwear. If you don’t have those you’re not getting anywhere.”_

_Albus sighs. “I know I need underwear, Mum. I’m not a complete idiot.”_

_“If you know you need underwear then that’s half the battle.” She picks a couple of t-shirts up off the floor and starts making a pile of things he needs on his bed. It doesn’t take long before he becomes so intent on rearranging the pile of things she’s picked out that she gives up on helping select things and gets down to the business of actually packing them in his trunk._

_By the time they’re done he looks calmer and she shuts the latches on the trunk and straightens up to shoot him a smile._

_“How are you doing now?”_

_He looks down at the trunk and gives a small shrug. “I’m not sure. I think I’ll be okay. Thank you for helping.”_

_She ruffles his hair, and he ducks away from her, pulling the same disgruntled face as his dad does whenever anyone touches his hair. “You’re welcome.”_

_He smooths his hair back into position and looks at her. “Mum?”_

_“Yes, Albus?”_

_“I... I love you, you know that?”_

_Her heart melts at the sight of his tear-stained face, and the soft warmth in his expression. He’s so brave, so good despite everything, and these are the moments when she feels most proud of him and most desperate to make his world perfect. “I know,” she says, going over and wrapping him up in the tightest hug yet. “I love you too. I love you so much, Albus Severus Potter.”_

Draco is sitting in the library when the front door creaks open and clicks closed downstairs. It’s not a loud sound, but after so many years of living mostly alone in this house he’s attuned to all of its tiny creaks and cracks, and any change in its occupancy.

He’s also become very used to listening for Scorpius tiptoeing up the grand staircase. He knows what it sounds like when Scorpius is tired or angry after a day at work. He knows the regular pattern of Scorpius’s footsteps on any average day. And then there’s this, the softest of footfalls, a pause every time a stair creaks. This is Scorpius when he doesn’t want to be heard, and if Scorpius doesn’t want to be heard then that either means he’s so upset that he wants to avoid talking, or it’s because he’s done something he shouldn’t have.

Draco sets his book aside and crosses to the library door, footsteps silent on the soft rug. He opens the door and leans in the doorway, trying to look casual while he waits to ambush Scorpius, who can’t get to his room without walking this way.

What Draco sees when Scorpius rounds the corner is not at all what he expected. Scorpius is grinning. He’s almost glowing in fact. There’s a radiance to him, a buzzing energy of sheer joy. His eyes are shining like stars. His hair is a ruffled mess. He’s hugging himself, and hunching down to try and make himself quieter, but it’s not the sort of hunching down where he wants to occupy as little space in the world as he can, it’s the sort of hunching down that Scorpius did as a child when he and Astoria were trying to sneak past Draco’s office to steal sweets from the kitchen. He looks like he’s playing a game. He’s enjoying himself, enjoying trying to be silent and stealthy, and when he finally looks up and spots Draco waiting for him his smile only swells bright on his face.

“Dad,” he chirps. “I didn’t think you’d hear me.”

“I hear everything,” Draco says, pushing off the door frame and blocking Scorpius’s path, arms folded. “You look happy.”

“Oh,” Scorpius says, beaming, the corners of his eyes crinkled up with joy. “Do I?”

“Yes,” Draco says. “You really do.” And he means it. Scorpius looks happy. Truly, deeply, genuinely happy. Inescapably, indescribably happy. The sort of happy that comes shining out of him and makes the world brighter around him. It has been a long time, years, many years, since Draco saw him look like this. This isn’t ‘happy enough’ or ‘as happy as it gets’, this is the real thing, and it’s been so long since Draco saw Scorpius looking like this that he doesn’t quite know what to do about it.

Part of him wants to grin back at Scorpius and demand to know everything that’s so joyful in Scorpius’s life right now. Part of him wants to cry with relief that despite everything the world has thrown at him, his son is still capable of feeling like this. Part of him is sceptical, because surely nothing can make any person this happy – it’s an impossibility.

“It’s a nice day,” Scorpius says, gesturing out towards the flash of sunny summer evening visible through the window. “It’s a beautiful day in fact. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and I stroked two cats on the way home.”

Draco scrutinises him carefully. “Are you going to tell me why you’re this happy?”

Scorpius gives a bouncy little shrug. “It’s just been a really good day.”

“Haven’t you been with the league all day?” Draco asks. “Has it gone this well?”

Scorpius’s smile stretches so wide that Draco is amazed his face isn’t aching. “It was pretty good. Nice and smooth. I got almost all the answers I need to start with; there’s just a bit of desk research to do.” Scorpius makes a move to duck round Draco and escape to his room. “Speaking of which, I don’t want to stay up too late. Lots to do tomorrow.”

Draco blocks him. “Not so fast.” He points at Scorpius. “You’re smiling like the sun, you tried to sneak in, and you won’t answer my questions. Did you see Albus again today? Is that what’s going on here?”

“Albus?” Scorpius asks, and the feigned surprise and confusion in his voice gives him away. He’s a brilliant liar, but not at times like this. At times like this he wears his heart on his sleeve. “No, I didn’t see Albus today. He wasn’t even at the training ground!”

Draco sighs. “Scorpius.”

There’s a momentary pause, then Scorpius’s smile fades a tiny bit, and even though it’s only by a little it’s still heartbreaking to see. That smile had been so warm and hopeful. If there’s one thing Draco has wished to see in his son for years it’s hope, and there it was, but it’s already fading.

“If I tell you you’ll just lecture me,” he says. “But I don’t need lecturing, Dad. I’m an adult. I know what I’m doing. I know what I want to do at least. And even if it goes badly I still want to try, because it makes me happy. _He_ makes me happy.”

“So this _is_ about Albus?” Draco asks softly, already regretting having stopped Scorpius. If he’d let him go uninterrupted he’d probably be humming and bouncing round his room by now, filling the house with joy like it hasn’t been for years. Now Scorpius looks stormy, and his smile is fading into defiance.

Scorpius folds his arms and lifts his chin. “Fine. Yes it’s about Albus. I met him for coffee this afternoon and-“ He swallows and does a little shrug and head tilt, like he’s trying to look casual but can’t quite manage it. “And he kissed me. And I kissed him back. So that’s why I’m in a good mood. Are you happy now?”

“Albus Severus Potter... kissed you?” Draco asks, trying to comprehend the words.

“Is that a problem?” Scorpius asks, and now his eyes are bright not like stars but like lighting. There’s a dangerous spark there. He’s crackling with energy and fight. He looks so much like his mother.

Draco doesn’t know what to say. Yes, of course it’s a problem, he’s _Albus Severus Potter_ , the cause of years of distress. But at the same time... Anyone who can make Scorpius smile like that with something as simple as a kiss has Draco’s blessing to stick around for as long as they continue to make Scorpius happy.

Draco swallows. He tries to put aside all his scepticism and misgivings (so many misgivings) and go along with this, because Scorpius is right, he’s an adult. Adults are allowed to make their own choices, their own mistakes, their own triumphs. And if this is the choice Scorpius is going to make then, mistake or not, Draco will support him. He’ll support him not just on principle but because of _that smile_. Albus has been back in Scorpius’s life for two days and he’s already lit it up like dawn at the end of a very long night.

“He took you for coffee? Where did you go?”

“Are you interrogating me now?” Scorpius asks. “If this is you trying to find out where he lives so you can turn him in, it’s not going to work.”

Draco shakes his head and uncrosses his arms. Instead he twists his hands together and starts running his fingers round the edge of his wedding ring. “I’m not trying to interrogate, I’m just curious about your date. It was a date, wasn’t it?”

“More a coincidental meeting,” Scorpius says, eyeing him warily. “He ran into me, literally, and we went for coffee.”

“And then he kissed you,” Draco says, waving a hand to indicate the passage of time.

Scorpius’s smile rekindles. “There was a bit of talking in between, but... yes. Then he kissed me. Only after I told him I wanted to. I mean he told me he wanted to first, and then he panicked and tried to run away, so I went after him and told him I wanted to too, and then he kissed me. If that makes sense.”

Draco smiles and shakes his head. “Very little, but it made you happy so I don’t think it needs to make sense.”

Scorpius sinks against the wall, smile widening a little further, the dreamy shine returning to his eyes as his gaze softens. “It makes no sense. He makes no sense. None of this makes sense, but I really like it. I really like _him_.”

Draco leans his back against the opposite wall and looks across at Scorpius. “I can tell. You’re glowing.”

Scorpius flushes bright pink and claps his hands to his cheeks. “I am? I didn’t mean to be.”

Draco shakes his head, and his own smile grows wider too, almost matching Scorpius’s. “It’s fine. It’s nice. It’s... it’s a relief actually. I haven’t seen you this happy since... Maybe not even since before we lost your mother. It suits you.”

Scorpius lowers his hands. “Do you think?” He breathes. “I didn’t know if it was...” he shrugs and seems to cast around for the right word. “Disrespectful, or...”

“Your mother only ever wanted to see you happy,” Draco says. “I know that for a fact. It’s never disrespectful to find happiness after you’ve lost someone, especially not her. Happiness was what she was about.”

Scorpius bows his head. “It was, wasn’t it...” He twists his hands together and takes a breath. “I think I would have been happy. If everything hadn’t happened the way it did. But now Albus is back, and it feels...” He shakes his head and glances up at Draco. “It feels like I’m complete again. And I know that’s a stupid thing to put on one person. I shouldn’t let him have that much power over me. But he’s Albus, and he does.”

“People are stupid when they’re in love,” Draco says. “I was. Your mother was. It’s normal.”

Scorpius rubs the fingers of his left hand over his knuckles and rests the toe of his shoe on the floor, so he’s all off balance. He has a tendency to stand like that sometimes. “I know that he might break my heart. Again. But it feels like it’s worth it. You don’t get the important things in life by keeping your heart locked away, right?” He looks up and meets Draco’s eyes.

“No,” Draco murmurs. “I don’t think you do.”

Scorpius pushes himself off the wall and crosses the corridor to lean right next to Draco. They’re almost the same height these days, but Scorpius is still just an inch shorter; he probably always will be, and Draco knows he finds it irritating, but Draco likes it. As long as he’s taller than his son, even if it’s just an inch, he feels as though he can truly protect him.

“If I keep seeing Albus,” Scorpius murmurs, glancing across at him. “Will you be mad at me?”

“Of course not!” Sometimes the things Scorpius thinks about him are ridiculous. He’s still working on setting each and every one of them straight. “I’ll be mad at him if he hurts you, but I’ll never be mad at you for trying to find happiness. If there’s one thing in the world you deserve then it’s that.”

“I really do feel happy,” Scorpius murmurs. “Right now. And earlier. I thought my heart might burst. I don’t know how to be this happy without exploding.”

“Please don’t explode,” Draco says, giving him a look. “That might give me reason to be mad at Albus.”

“Right,” Scorpius says with a smile. “I’ll try to contain myself.” He pauses, then he looks right at Draco, and Draco twists round to look him in the eye, because he can sense that’s what Scorpius wants.

“You really are okay with this?”

Draco looks at him, bathed in the warm, peach glow of the setting sun, relaxed and peaceful and buoyant, still ruffled from Albus kissing him earlier, still with that sparkle of happiness and contentment in his eye even though his expression is serious now, and he nods. “Yes. Not completely yet, after everything. But making you happy is a good start. If he can keep that up I think I’ll get used to him. As long as you’re happy I can get used to anything.”

“Sorry I’m late,” Albus gasps as he comes sprinting into the blue and gold Puddlemere United changing room, bag bouncing on his back. The colour scheme makes him think of Scorpius, with his sky blue Ministry robes and the pale, flaxen gold of his hair. This is a good place to be tonight. “I lost track of time. Can I-“ He gestures to Delphi, who’s sitting in front of his stall. She doesn’t move an inch, and only then does Albus realise that he’s never seen her look more angry.

Her arms are crossed, her feet, which are so often swinging back and forth beneath her chair, are planted firmly on the floor. She’s almost crackling with energy, and she keeps twisting the handle of her wand between her fingers, like she’s deciding which spell to use to punish him.

“You lost track of time,” she says, in an ice cold voice that sends shivers down his spine. “With Scorpius Malfoy, I assume?” She gets to her feet and reaches out a hand, brushing the back of one finger down his cheek, which is still warm not just from running here but also from when Scorpius kissed him.

“I- no,” he says, shifting his head back an inch. “No, I was flying.”

“All day?”

Albus shrugs. “I was hungover. I didn’t wake up until the afternoon, and then I wanted to clear my head. Please can I get changed?”

Delphi stands there for a moment longer, then she steps aside, and Albus exhales and puts his bag down. He pulls his t-shirt off and starts rummaging around for his racing clothes. Usually he checks and double checks his kit before he leaves but today he didn’t have the time or brain power. He never fancies the idea of racing in his jeans and t-shirt, that’s practically asking for his shoulder to be in excruciating pain for the next week.

“I don’t believe you,” Delphi says after a few moments of silence. “I think you’re lying to me.”

Albus sighs and stops searching for his clothes. “I didn’t come to the training ground, but I still wanted to fly. I like flying. That was how I spent my afternoon.”

“So you didn’t?” Delphi asks, pausing halfway across the room and glancing back at him. “See Scorpius?”

He can feel the dragon-skin of his jacket beneath his fingertips. At least he packed that. Despite _that kiss_ there’s some part of his brain was still functioning when he left his house. He pulls it out of his bag, along with the shirt he wears while he’s racing, and starts pulling it on.

“I want you to look me in the eye and promise me you’re telling the truth,” Delphi says.

Albus very slowly buttons up the front of his jacket and looks down at his bag. His racing trousers have surfaced now too, thank goodness. He’s not going to have to burn to a crisp.

He kicks his shoes off and wriggles out of his jeans, very aware that Delphi is watching him. He can feel her eyes burning into his back, and even though he’s not shy and he’s got changed in front of her hundreds of times before, it’s still not completely comfortable. But he’d rather she be watching him change than hexing him.

“I told you,” he says, glancing over his shoulder but not looking at her. “I went flying.” He squirms his way into the tight trousers and starts buttoning them up.

“I still don’t believe you.” She’s sitting on the opposite side of the changing room now. He can see her out of the corner of his eye. The distance between them feels like a vast chasm. Normally, whether she’s angry with him or pleased with him she’s at least close by, but now there’s a coldness to the distance, and it makes him feel guilty.

He finishes getting his trousers on, buckles his belt, and turns to face her, knowing there’s no avoiding it. Despite the brightness of the room, and the gleaming gold fixtures that send light bouncing and dancing through the space, her eyes are still dark as he meets them across the distance.

“I-“

He doesn’t get chance to even think of telling another lie before she’s in his head. She hasn’t done this many times before, but she‘s done it often enough that Albus was expecting it. Expectation doesn’t mean he’s prepared though. A sensation of floating overcomes him. He feels powerless inside his own head, and he can feel her flicking through his memories, perusing them at her leisure. It makes his head ache, and he lifts his hands up to claw at his temples, but there’s no way of getting her out.

He sees himself waking up to nausea and an excruciating headache. Then he’s making breakfast in the kitchen and discovering that he doesn’t really feel sick, he’s just starving hungry. He’s stepping out of his upstairs window and flying up into the blue sky. There are clouds around him and the odd bird. The rolling hills are below him and the air is fresh and smells sweet. He dips down to see where he’s got to and discovers that he’s flown arrow straight, right to a familiar little village with a pond in the middle of the green, and a pair of houses on the outskirts, one tall and held up by magic, the other with climbing roses trailing round the front door and two people in the garden and tears well up in Albus’s eyes, and-

And Albus realises that even if he only visited them inadvertently, Delphi knowing he’s been to see his parents is far far worse than her knowing he’s kissed Scorpius. She already knows he’s met Scorpius again. Maybe she even knows how he feels about him. But she has no idea about today’s unfortunate excursion, and Albus is very much aware that if she found out she would incredibly disappointed and upset. It would be a betrayal of everything he’s ever promised her, and of their whole mantra. It would be the undoing of more than seven years of mutual trust. This lapse is something that she cannot know about under any circumstances.

“Fine,” he shouts as loudly as he can, trying to snap her out of his head.

She releases him and he collapses onto his hands and knees, breathing hard and massaging his forehead.

“Fine, I admit it. I had coffee with Scorpius.” Albus lifts his head and looks at her. “I didn’t know he was coming. We didn’t arrange it beforehand, but he noticed I wasn’t at the training ground today so he came to check I was okay.” He pushes himself upright so he’s sitting on his heels. “We got coffee because he knew I was hungover, and then we... we talked, about a lot of things, and then I realised I was late to come here so I left.”

Delphi is also rubbing her forehead and frowning at him. “That’s why you were upset? Because you had to leave?”

“What?” Albus manages to catch his breath and picks himself up off the floor. “I don’t think I was upset. I mean, I’d rather have stayed with him, but I know I’ll see him again. No, I was quite happy actually. I-“ He swallows. “I kissed him.”

Delphi’s head flies up from her hand. “Excuse me?”

Albus nods and despite the pain in his head a small smile blossoms across his lips. He can’t help it. “It was a really good kiss too. He’s almost too tall but not quite, and his lips are so-“

Delphi gets to her feet and walks towards him. “You _kissed_...” Delphi pauses for a moment, allowing the word to sink in, “Scorpius Malfoy?”

Albus grins and nods. “Yes, I did.”

Silence draws out between them as Delphi stares at him, and he realises that she’s lost for words. But despite not saying anything, he knows exactly how she feels about what he’s just told her, because her expression has turned to thunder again and her fingers are clenched so tightly into fists that her hands are shaking. And maybe her finding out about his parents would have hurt and disappointed her more, but her finding out about Scorpius isn’t brilliant either. Albus can already feel the waves of guilt rolling in, and his smile melts off his face.

“Delphi,” he says softly, getting to his feet. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have- I told you I’d be careful, and-“

She holds a hand up to stop him. “I don’t think you or I have anything to say to one another now.”

Albus bows his head. “I really am-“

“No.” She draws in a long breath, like she’s trying to stop herself from doing something she’ll regret, and that just makes Albus feel worse, because he shouldn’t be driving her to get so upset with him. He should be better than that.

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

“I think you have a race that you’re late for,” Delphi says in a frosty voice. “I’d hate for it to start without you. Go on.”

Albus nods and picks up his goggles and broom in silence, utterly crushed. He tries not to look at the colours of the changing room and the tunnel beyond as he walks out onto the pitch; thinking of Scorpius is the last thing he needs. He tries not to even hear the crowd roaring as he steps into the golden wash of light in the stadium, because he doesn’t deserve their adulation, he doesn’t deserve anything right now. If he’s going to make up for this he’s going to have to win, and win big. Thankfully, winning is something he’s quite good at.

At the end of the evening, Albus sits on one of the tables in the medical room, pressing a cool, salve-dampened cloth to his left shoulder. It’s only a very minor burn, not normally even worth paying attention to, but given his history he’s trying to treat it carefully. The most important thing, though, is that it didn’t stop him winning every single race he took part in over the course of the night, from the carnage of the 32 racer mass start elimination race, right down to the final four. He’s come away the undisputed champion, and if that doesn’t convince Delphi to stop being angry with him then nothing will.

He lifts the cloth to inspect his shoulder and sees that although his skin is still a little bit pink there’s not much lasting damage. There’s no point sitting here tending to an injury that barely counts as an injury, and anyway, he wants to get home. He also desperately wants to find Delphi.

Privately he’d been hoping she’d be concerned enough by his injury to come and find him in the medical room, but maybe she’s so mad at him that she doesn’t care about his physical well-being at the moment. Or maybe she’s busy. She’s just secured two new sponsors after all; perhaps she’s entertaining them up in one of the suites.

He weaves his way through the busy underbelly of the stadium, and a few people pat him back or congratulate him as he passes. For all he’s been away, and as much as it’s a competitive league, everyone’s still friendly – they have to be when their whole lives are spent training and racing together.

“Good work tonight, Sev,” Jamal says, holding his hand up for a high five as he passes. He’s come second all evening, and he seems quite pleased about it. When Albus is as unstoppable as he was today, second is a good place to be.

“Have you seen Delphi?” he asks briefly clasping Jamal’s hand.

Jamal nods and points up the tunnel. “She’s on the pitch. I bet she’ll be thrilled with you.”

“Thanks,” Albus says with a somewhat lacklustre smile, worried that it doesn’t matter how good his flying was. He hurries up the tunnel towards the pitch and out into the gathering dusk. The quicker he finds her and gets this over with, the better.

Even though the pitch is crowded with people it doesn’t take him long to find Delphi. She’s walking down the stairs from one of the boxes with a triumphant look on her face – not a smile, she doesn’t smile much, but an expression of grim satisfaction. She’s in a much better mood now, that’s plain to see, so this is the perfect time to talk to her.

He jogs through the crowd and blocks her at the bottom of the stairs. “Delphi!”

“Sev,” she says, and her tone is considerably brighter than it had been last time they’d spoken. She’s not being cold anymore, and that’s a good start.

“Is this a good time to talk to you?” He asks.

She pauses on the step above him, so she’s just a touch taller than he is, and scrutinises him. “Are you going to apologise for earlier?” She asks.

Albus nods. “Of course I am. I didn’t-“

She holds a hand up to stop him. “I may have been a little irritable before, you were late, after all, and you did technically lie to me, but-“ He opens his mouth to interrupt and she makes a ‘shut up’ gesture at him. “ _But_ , I’m not really angry. A bit disappointed, and I think you could make better decisions, but I’m not mad at you. And you flew very well in front of your new sponsors so I’ll let you off.” She gives him a gesture to speak and folds her arms, watching him intently.

He takes a step up the stairs, so he’s on the same level as her, and he rests his hand on the bannister next to hers. “I did want to say sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have lied to you. And I also wanted to give you this.” He holds his hand out to her and opens his palm up to show her the small, glittering medallion he’s received for winning the evening’s final. “I flew for you tonight. I fly for you every night. And I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Delphi reaches out and brushes her fingers over the surface of the medallion, then she picks it up and inspects it. Finally she looks up at him. “Why are you giving me this? You won it. It’s yours.”

Albus shrugs. “Because I love you, and I wanted you to have something to remind you of that.”

Delphi stares at him, fingers slowly closing round the medallion. “Okay...”

Albus takes a breath and presses on. “That doesn’t mean that I don’t love Scorpius too, though. I do. I _really_ do. And I can’t promise that I won’t see him again. He makes me happy.”

“Don’t I make you happy?” Delphi asks, rolling the medallion over in her hand.

Albus sighs. “You both do. In different ways.” He withdraws his hand from the bannister and tucks it into the pocket of his trousers. “I don’t need to choose between you, Delphi. I don’t want to. I want you both. I love you both. So I’m going to keep seeing him, and I hope that’s okay. If it’s not, then...” He shrugs. “It needs to be okay. And I’ll care about you none the less because I care about him.” He pauses, looking at her, waiting for a reaction, and when he doesn’t get one beyond her staring at him in stunned confusion he cuts his losses and steps in to kiss her on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon. Goodnight, Delphi.” He waits another second for her to say something or call him back, then he turns and walks away.

Albus wakes up to an aching shoulder and a hollow, heavy feeling in his stomach. He lies flat on his back and stares up at the ceiling. Everything that happened yesterday floods his brain in an overwhelming stream, and he struggles to make sense of how he feels about it.

First, he said all those things to Delphi. It’s not often that he truly speaks his mind around her – most of the time it’s not worth his while to stand his ground and argue with her – but Scorpius is worth fighting for. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel weird about the confrontation – Delphi is everything to him, and laying down an ultimatum that might mean he loses her is terrifying – but he doesn’t regret a word of what he said. Not yet, anyway. That might change with her reaction.

Second, there was Scorpius. Talking to Scorpius. Kissing Scorpius. _Kissing Scorpius_. A slow grin spreads across Albus’s face, and he covers his face with his hands and digs his toes into the mattress as he lets himself remember how good it felt.

Last night he didn’t have time to reflect on it, but now... Now he’s alone, safe in his own house, with an empty day stretching out ahead of him. Now he can lie here and luxuriate in every tiny detail of the kiss: the softness of Scorpius’s lips, the warmth and sweetness left behind by his tea, the delicate brush of his fingers, the depth of colour in his eyes, the tremble in his voice when he’d told Albus to go for his race...

Albus sinks into the memories and gets lost there. It isn’t until almost an hour later, when he’s showered and dressed and pulled himself together a bit, that he remembers the third thing that had happened yesterday.

His parents.

He sits down on the edge of his bed and stares across at the window. For so many years he’s sat there, gazing out at the rolling hills and the distant lights, wondering what they’re doing. He’s lost track of time as he’s wondered whether they miss him, whether they’re searching for him, whether they even still talk about him. Sometimes, on the particularly dark and painful nights, he’s dreamed of flying out of the window and going to find them. Even if the idea of seeing his dad is too panic-inducing to contemplate, he would give anything to speak to his mum again. He’d give up his career in a heartbeat if he had to. In a very secret inner part of his heart, he even thinks he’d give up Delphi, not that that’s a decision she’d ever let him make.

And now, on this beautiful, sunshine flooded morning when he might already have lost Delphi, there is absolutely nothing to stop him going to see her.

This week his heart is open. This week his life is changing. Scorpius is back, he dared to finally fly to Ottery St Catchpole yesterday, why not just another step further? If the future is his to make, why not have his mum in that future too, sooner rather than later?

In a moment of sheer madness he glances at the clock. His heart pounds hard in his chest as he realises his dad will already be at work, but he knows there’s a big Quidditch match tonight – that’s why there are no races today – and his mum goes into the office late on match days. Sometimes she doesn’t even go at all. If there’s a good time to catch her, it’s now.

He gets to his feet, grabs his broom, and strides across the room before his brain catches up with what he’s doing. He slides the window open and pauses on the ledge, staring down at the drop then up at the blue sky then out at the heather grey hills beyond, shadowed by scudding clouds and bright sunshine.

_The future is mine to make._

He steps out into the void, and for an instant he‘s free falling, stomach swooping, then his broom catches him and he’s soaring upwards. Free and hopeful. Flying.

He skims through the clouds, moisture dampening his hair and clothes, but it’s a warm enough day that he doesn’t mind – he dries out fast enough through the sunny stretches. As he flies he tries not to think too much. He doesn’t want his brain to process what he’s doing, and he doesn’t want to start trying to plan what he’s going to say when he finds his mum. If he does that then he’ll panic and turn straight round and fly back the way he’s come.

Several times he dips beneath the clouds to check where he is, too nervous to stay up high in case he misses the village altogether. Not once does he recognise any of the villages he’s flying over, and he’s just beginning to wonder whether he’s gone off course when one final foray down to check out his surroundings shows him the familiar sight of Ottery St Catchpole.

He grips his broom handle tight with both hands and tries to draw in deep breaths past the stinging, breathtaking cold of the wind on his face. He’s shaking, both from the cold and from the adrenaline rush of what he’s about to do. Broom racing is one sort of jeopardy, but this is definitely worse. It’s difficult to keep the broom steady as he descends because he’s so tense and trembling, but he manages to touch down in a field near his parents’ house, and he doesn’t think any Muggles see him, so that’s about the best he can do. Now he just has to make himself walk up to his parents’ house, knock on the door, and say hello.

_It’s easy_ , he tells himself. _It’s fine. She’s just your mum. You know how to talk to your mum._

_But what if Dad’s there too?_ Another little voice inside him pipes up. _You_ definitely _don’t know how to talk to him._

_He won’t be,_ the other more soothing, sensible part of him replies _. He’s at work. It’s fine. She’s your mum. You love her. It’ll be easy when you get started._

Easy or not, by the time he’s passed the entrance to the Burrow and is halfway past the orchard, almost at the edge of his parents’ yard, he feels sick. His stomach is lurching like he’s trying to fly in a gale. His hands are shaking so hard he has to stuff them into his pockets to keep them still. He keeps his head down and tries to breathe, to reassure himself, to make himself keep walking.

Even though he hasn’t been here in years, his feet find their way to the garden gate even when his brain is otherwise occupied with freaking out, and he pushes it open before he’s given himself time to think. The gate squeaks, and he freezes at the end of the path towards the house as he spots his mum just across the lawn, levitating an enormous metal watering can that’s sprinkling water onto the vegetable patch outside the kitchen door. Last time Albus saw that vegetable patch it was still just a bit of brown earth and a dream inside his dad’s head. Now it’s blooming, a riot of colour in the summer sun.

Captivated, all his self-preservation instincts having deserted him, he walks across the lawn towards his mum and opens his mouth to say something, whatever comes to mind first, but he doesn’t get the chance.

As he approaches she glances up, apparently noticing there’s an intruder in her garden.

“Hello,” she says. “Can I help y-“ Her eyes go wide and the watering can drops out of midair and onto the ground with a clang that makes Albus flinch, but Ginny doesn’t seem to hear it. She stares at him, and keeps staring.

Finally, he swallows. “H-hi, Mum.”

Her hands fly to her face and she covers her mouth. “Albus,” she breathes. Then she starts walking, holding her hands out to him. “Albus. _Albus_.” She doesn’t seem to know what else to say, and he doesn’t know what to say either, but he gives her a shaky smile.

“I-I missed you,” he murmurs. And then he discovers that he can’t keep himself together anymore. In an instant tears overwhelm him, and he buries his face in his hands as he starts to sob.

She’s there straight away. Her arms close around him, just as warm and solid as they had when he was sixteen years old and he said goodbye to her for the last time on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. He’s a lot taller now, taller than her, so he’s not swamped by her hug anymore, but it’s still good. It’s still everything he’s been needing and wanting for so long. He grasps fistfuls of her jumper and clings to her as he buries his face in her shoulder and cries like he hasn’t done since he was a child.

She’s crying too, he realises. Somehow he’s curled himself up so she can litter his hair with kisses, and he can already feel how damp it’s getting, not that he cares. He doesn’t care about anything now. Nothing can hurt him, there’s nothing to worry about; his mum’s here. He’s safe. He’s home.

“Sweetheart,” his mum whispers, voice trembling. “My baby boy. You’re here. You’re alive. You’re-“ She brushes her fingers over his hair, and he wishes he hadn’t cut it so recently, because he remembers how she used to run her fingers through his hair when she hugged him, and he wishes she could do that now. “You’re really here.”

“I am here,” he breathes in reply, and she hugs him harder.

The longer and tighter his mum holds him, the better he feels. There’s a warmth spreading through him, and an intense comfort. He feels whole in her arms. He feels like himself. With her here he can simply exist, there’s no expectation to be anyone or anything except her son. Now he knows she’s not angry at him; that she’s simply happy to have him back, he’s aware of how pure and unconditional her love is. It’s everything he’s been missing, and it’s such a welcome relief that he bursts into a fresh wave of tears. It feels as though all the weight of the world has been lifted from him.

Finally, his mum draws in a deep shuddering breath and holds him at arm’s length, her hands on his shoulders. She smiles at him, and it’s warm and bright even though her eyes are red and her cheeks are stained with tears.

“Hello,” she says.

He smiles back, wiping his eyes on his back of his hands. “Hi.”

“Look at you.” She squeezes his shoulders and starts examining him. “You’ve got so tall. You’re taller than me.”

“Finally,” he says with a snuffly little laugh.

“And you look so... you look like your uncle Bill,” she says, skimming her fingers over his pierced ears.

He lifts his hand to his ear and follows the path her fingers have just brushed over. “Do I?”

She grins and her eyes sparkle in the sunshine. “You do. You look far cooler than I ever could have hoped to be.”

“But you’re Ginny Potter,” Albus says, dropping his hand back to his side. “No one’s cooler than you.”

She laughs. “I won’t tell anyone that you just admitted you think I’m cool. I’d hate to damage your street cred.” She runs her fingers over his head next, examining his hair. “It’s so short,” she says softly. “You had such beautiful hair.”

Albus pulls a face and shifts his head away. “When it’s long it looks just like-“

“Your father’s,” She says, with a knowing nod. Her fingers trace down to his jaw, and she lifts his chin by an inch so she can examine his face. He blinks and turns his head away, not wanting her to see, but he can’t hide anything from her.

“And your eyes,” she says. “Albus.”

“I’d rather they looked like yours,” he mutters, bowing his head. “And I didn’t want anyone to recognise me. I didn’t want to be found.”

His mum withdraws her hands, so for the first time since she started hugging him there’s a physical distance between them. Albus can’t stand it. He reaches out for her hand, and she lets him take it and lift it to his shoulder, where it rests, her fingers grazing over the skin of his neck. It’s better knowing that she could draw him back into a hug if she wanted to. He wants more hugs, but he doesn’t know how to start them or ask for them. He certainly doesn’t want her to let go of him. Not now. Not ever again.

“But you’re here,” she says, in a soft, uncertain voice. “If you don’t want to be found, why are you here now?”

“It feels different if I let myself be found,” he explains. “I think. I don’t know. I’m... I’m trying some new things out.”

His mum looks him right in the eye, and for the first time she looks broken and desperate, and a little bit lost. It’s shocking in a way, because he’s never before in his life seen her look like that. “This can’t be something you’re trying out,” she says, gesturing between the two of them. “I hope you know that. I’m not letting you disappear again, Albus. We spent years searching for you. We were worried you were-“ She swallows, and her grip tightens on his shoulder. “I know things were hard, I know there was so much that wasn’t working, and I-“ She breaks off as tears well up in his eyes. She sniffs and brushes them away, even though they’re starting to trickle down her cheeks and drip off her nose and chin. “I’m sorry I didn’t do enough to help you stay. But that’s not going to happen again. I will do whatever it takes to help you feel comfortable here again, Albus. I will do anything to help you feel part of this family, because-“ Her voice goes high-pitched as the tears start to overwhelm her, and she hides her face behind one hand for a moment, taking several breaths, her shoulders rising and falling as she tries to control herself. Finally she withdraws her hand and looks at him. “Because you are. We need you, we want you. We love you, understand me?”

Albus chokes back tears and nods, his vision blurred so he can barely make her out anymore. She’s just a smudge of red hair and soft turquoise jumper. “I-I understand.”

“Good,” she says, voice breaking, and now she pulls him into another hug, and he holds onto her as tight as he can, hoping that that will show her that he doesn’t want to lose her again; that he doesn’t think he can.

They cling to each other for another minute, Albus getting lost in her warmth, the softness of her jumper beneath his fingers, the gentle floral scent of her perfume, the soothing beat of her heart. When they finally part, she doesn’t move far away. There are still just inches between them, and Albus suspects that after all this time it’s painful for both of them to be any further apart. He suspects she’s worried that if she moves any further away he’ll slip through her fingers and vanish into thin air, and he doesn’t have the words to reassure her that that will never happen. Not now. Not ever again. He doesn’t know how to tell her that he needs her with everything he has.

“Will you come inside?” She asks. “I can make tea. I want to hear everything about your life. I’ve missed out on so much.”

Albus looks over her shoulder at the kitchen door and his heart skips a beat. His chest gets tighter just thinking about going inside, especially into his dad’s space – the kitchen has always belonged to his dad most of all – and he grips his mum’s arm and tries to steady himself. “I don’t want to go inside,” he whispers. “Not yet. I... I’m really sorry, Mum. I can’t- I’m not ready.”

She looks at him, and he knows she sees his fear. He’s good at hiding so many of his emotions, even from her, but this one is too much to keep to himself.

“Alright,” she says gently, leaning across and planting a kiss on his forehead. “We can sit out here, it’s a nice day. Would you like tea?”

He nods vigorously. There’s nothing he wants more in the world than a cup of his mum’s tea. “Yes please.”

They sit on the narrow doorstep, pressed side by side to make room for them both, and they sip their cups of tea as they watch the summer breeze stir the green leaves and bright flowers of Harry’s vegetable patch. A couple of gnomes dash across the yard, giggling maniacally, and the cat chases after them. It’s a peaceful, idyllic afternoon, and Albus breathes in the mingling scent of sweet-peas and bergamot.

“So where do you live now?” His mum asks finally. “Do you live alone?”

“I have a house,” Albus replies. “In Bristol. I don’t want to say where, but... it’s nice. It has a nice view. I actually got it because I knew I could fly straight here from it.”

His mum smiles and looks at him. “Do you do a lot of flying?”

Albus nods. “It’s sort of my job. I-I’m good at it. Not as good as you, but... I think I’m better than Dad.”

“What sort of flying do you do?” She asks, expression soft and bright with curiosity.

“Broom racing,” He says, taking a sip of tea.

“Not the illegal sort?” She asks, tone suddenly sharp and stern. When he bows his head she exhales and sets her tea down on the ground. “ _Albus_... It’s dangerous. Is this what you’ve been doing the whole time?”

He glances at her. “I like it. I’m good at it. It pays well. And I’m still alive.” He shoots her a nervous little smile. “Mostly.”

“Merlin,” she breathes, and he nudges her gently on the arm.

“I really am okay. I promise. I’m being careful.”

“Is it possible to be careful with that sort of racing?” She asks, giving him a hard look.

“Well, no,” he admits, “but I’m more careful than some people. I race in full dragon-hide for starters, and...” He trails off, knowing he’s not going to convince her. “I’m sorry, Mum.”

She pats his hand. “It’s okay. Tell me about something else. Are there any other dangerous activities you enjoy that I need to worry about?”

He smiles sheepishly. “I don’t think so. Other than that I try to behave myself...”

“Good,” she says. “That’s something at least. What about friends, partners? Is there anyone looking out for you?”

“My manager,” Albus says. “Delphi. She’s my best friend I suppose. And as for partners...” He trails off and a smile spreads across his face. His mum beams and nudges him.

“And as for partners?”

He ducks his head, cheeks heating up. “It’s not exactly official or anything, but I um... I-I’ve been seeing Scorpius a lot recently.”

His mum blinks. “Scorpius Malfoy?”

He nods and grins. “Right. Him.” He pauses for a moment to give her time to react, but when she doesn’t he goes on talking. “I only met him again a couple of days ago – did you know he’s working for Dad? But we’ve been talking and seeing each other, and...” He shrugs. “And I really really like him. Still. More than ever.”

As he watches, his mum’s beaming smile seems to fade a little. He doesn’t understand why though, she’s never had a problem with Scorpius before. He shifts an inch away from her so he can twist round to look at her properly.

“Is it a problem?” He asks. “Me and Scorpius?”

“No,” she says quickly, squeezing his hand. “Not at all. I’m not even surprised. But a lot has happened while you’ve been away, and...” She looks at him, and he knows she’s trying to read him, but he doesn’t know what she’s looking for. “I’m sure Scorpius will tell you everything when he’s ready. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, wondering whether he really should be worried.

She nods. “I promise. So, you and Scorpius?” Her smile blossoms again. “How is that?”

Albus sighs and melts against her side. “Wonderful. He’s wonderful. I love him, Mum. He’s even better than I remember.”

She wraps an arm round his shoulders. “Go on.”

He looks across at the vegetable patch, trying to work out how to put it. “You know how when you haven’t seen someone for a long time you build them up in your head? All I remembered of Scorpius were the good bits. The best bits. He was perfect in my head. And then I met him again and he really is that perfect. I mean, no one’s perfect, but he’s... He’s Scorpius. And it feels so easy with him. Everything is so easy. It feels right. He makes me feel like I’m home. He’s- he’s why I’m here today actually.”

His mum squeezes his shoulder. “Is he?”

“Yes he-“ He breaks off as her fingers close just a little too tightly on his burned shoulder, and he twists sharply away, breaking out of her grip and rubbing at his shoulder with his right hand.

“Albus, are you-“ She eyes him carefully. “Are you injured?”

He shakes his head, apparently so quickly that he looks suspicious, because she edges off the step and kneels in front of him.

“Please let me look at you,” she says. “I might be able to help.”

He brushes her away. “It’s fine, honestly. It’s nothing. I’ve had worse.”

“That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence,” she says, reaching out for his shoulder. “Please let me see. If it’s nothing then there’s nothing to hide.”

He doesn’t know what to do. On the one hand, she’s his mum, and if he trusts anyone to look at his scars and say the right things, maybe even help, then it’s her. On the other hand, she’s his mum and this isn’t the sort of thing he’s ever liked revealing to his parents. For several seconds he weighs up the options, but eventually the fact that she might just be able to help wins out, and he peels off his jacket to reveal the sleeveless shirt he’s wearing underneath, and the long section of skin that’s marred by scarring and ink.

The angry red of his latest burn mingles with the deeper, ember dark red of the old scars, running all the way down from his shoulder to his elbow. It looks worse than he’d expected, and he’s used to it. He can’t imagine what it looks like to his mum who’s never seen it before.

She shifts forward on her knees, reaching out to take hold of his wrist so she can keep him steady while she inspects his arm. She’s utterly silent, but her face says everything. Abject horror is written across every inch of it. Her eyes are wide and she seems to have been struck speechless. She grazes her fingers lightly up his arm, touch barely whispering across his skin, and when she gets to the new burn, his flinch finally breaks her silence.

“Sorry,” she whispers. She looks up at him. “How did this happen? This is really... really really not good.”

“I got a bit too friendly with some Fiendfyre,” Albus says. “Occupational hazard, you know.” He gives her a grim smile, and she shakes her head.

“Did you ever see anyone about this? Did you go to St Mungo’s, or... anywhere?” She looks up at him.

“It’s a bit difficult to go to St Mungo’s when you don’t want to be found,” Albus says, gently easing his arm from her grip and covering it up with his jacket. “I’ve been dealing with it. It’s not great but it could be worse.” He meets her eyes, and tries to ignore the pain and fear there. “Mum, when we were little you used to make that stuff, you know the really good stuff that you’d put on burns and things. That cream or whatever it was.”

His mum sits back on her heels. “I think this is beyond the help of cream, Albus.”

He sighs. “Humour me. Please?”

She eyes him for a moment. “Let me see it again? Don’t worry, I won’t tell you off. I just want to look.”

He hesitates before shrugging his jacket off once more. This time she’s far more matter of fact about the whole thing, and spends more time examining the swirling tattoos that circle and twist their way down his arm than she does looking at the burns.

“Did you get these before or after you got burned?” She asks, tracing her finger over part of the pattern.

“After,” he says. “I thought I could cover them up, or...”

“They’re nice,” she murmurs. “They’re beautiful.”

“I have another one on my back too,” he tells her. “On my shoulder blade. Some wings. To remind me that the future is mine to make.”

His mum smiles and glances up at him. “I like that sentiment.” She gets to her feet. “I think I actually do have some of that burn stuff,” she says thoughtfully. “Not much, but if you won’t let me take you to St Mungo’s-“

“No,” Albus says, as adamantly as possible.

“Then it’s better than nothing,” Ginny says with a nod. “I’ll be back in a second.”

She disappears into the house through the kitchen door, and Albus sits and waits for her for a minute or so before she’s been gone long enough that he gets curious.

He gets to his feet and stands in the doorway, peering through into the kitchen. His dad’s domain is just the way he remembers it. Everything is identical: the pots and pans hung in the same way by the stove, the mugs stacked the same way on the mug tree, the pots of herbs thriving on the window ledge, the vast rack of multi-coloured spices that Albus used to sit and smell for hours. The kitchen table is the same too, still pockmarked from years of familial wear and tear, right down to the char mark from when James had detonated three decks of Exploding Snap cards all at once and nearly set fire to the house.

Grinning, Albus steps over the threshold and re-enters his home. It’s just as warm and bright and airy as he remembers. It still smells of home in that way that no other building does – it smells of his dad’s cooking, and the climbing roses whose scent comes wafting in on the summer breeze, and most of all it smells neutral. Normal. Familiar. Albus leans his hands on the back of the chair he always sits in for meals and inhales.

“There’s only one pot left unfortunately,” Ginny says as she comes striding back into the kitchen. “But I can make more, especially if-“ She stops when she sees that Albus has moved. “Hello.”

He looks down at himself, and only when he realises that his feet are on the tiled kitchen floor, and that he’s very definitely inside the house, does he look up. “Hi,” he says. “Is it alright for-“

“This is your home,” his mum says. “Of course you can be in here. Now sit down and let me sort your shoulder out.” She draws her wand and gestures for him to take a seat. He doesn’t need telling twice.

He sits in his own chair at the dining table, which still creaks just the way he remembers. It’s still as comfortable as he remembers too, and he leans back as his mum starts working on his arm.

Her magic is soothing and gentle. She’s doing something that numbs the burns and diminishes their aggravated red to a pink that’s only just a little bit darker than his normal skin tone. The pain subsides more thoroughly than it has in years, and Albus closes his eyes and luxuriates in how good it feels. There’s no better Healer in the world than his mum. Her care and attention, the warm familiarity of her magic, helps just as much as any spell a professional might use on him.

His eyes fly open when he realises she’s been massaging the burn cream into his skin for several seconds already without him noticing. The urge to pull his arm away is almost too much to bear, but he makes himself stay still and take deep breaths. He hasn’t let anyone else touch his scars since he came round properly after getting burned. But if he’s happy for anyone to do it then it’s her.

“They’re so hot,” she murmurs, pressing the back of her hand to his skin. “Are they always like this?”

“It comes and goes,” he says, voice shaking because he’s so tense and on edge. He clenches his fingers into fists and braces himself against the chair. “It’s- it’s the Fiendfyre. It never really goes away. It sort of... keeps burning you forever...”

She swallows and nods, and gives his arm one final inspection before releasing it and looking up at him. “Well,” she says with a wavering but cheerful smile. “It looks a lot better now.”

“It feels a lot better,” he agrees, twisting his shoulder round so he can have a look, then sliding his arms back into his jacket. “Thank you.”

She pats his knee and gets to her feet. “That’s alright.” She picks up the mugs from the kitchen table and starts bustling around the kitchen, tidying up. He watches her for a second, then feels bad about sitting there and letting her do all the work, so he gets up too, and starts running a basin of water so he can do the washing up.

“So... what’s been happening here since I... you know... left?” Albus asks, trailing his fingers in the water to check the temperature, then squirting in a spray of washing up liquid so the water fills with clouds of white bubbles.

His mum pauses with her back to him, resting her hands on the back of the chair in front of her. Her head is bowed, and there’s a tension to the way she’s standing. Maybe that was the wrong question to ask, Albus reflects, and he opens his mouth to retract it or change it, but his mum gets there first.

“It hasn’t exactly been easy,” she says, so softly he almost doesn’t hear over the sound of the running water. “We thought that you’d- We didn’t know what had happened. Scorpius couldn’t tell us anything.” She turns to face him. “You disappeared, and we had no idea... You could have been anywhere. You could have been dead.” She takes a step towards him. “Your dad scoured every inch of the country personally to try and find you, and when he couldn’t he did it all again. Your case is still open. I know it is. Even though there was no trace of you anywhere he couldn’t close it. He couldn’t admit that you might be gone forever.”

“I’m here now,” Albus whispers. He turns the tap off and looks at her for a moment, but there’s so much pain in her expression that he can’t stand to look at her, so he grabs the nearest mug and starts washing it as thoroughly as he can.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” he says, focusing on the movements of his hands and on keeping hold of the slippery china. “I didn’t have anywhere to go. I wanted to... I wanted to stop failing everyone. You, Dad, Scorpius, the teachers, myself. I didn’t want to be a disappointment anymore. I wanted to fit somewhere.”

“You were never a disappointment, Albus.” His mum is right behind him now, he can feel her hovering by his shoulder, but he still doesn’t look up.

“I was rubbish at magic,” he says, setting the mug down in the sink and ticking the ways he was a failure off in his fingers. “I was terrible in all my classes. I kept getting into trouble. There were all those bullies. I couldn’t fly properly and I hated Quidditch. I did horribly on my O.W.L.s. I got put in Slytherin right at the start. I was angry all the time. I didn’t fit in, not at home or at school...” He glances up at his mum. “I was a useless son, a worse brother, and Scorpius deserved a better friend. You all deserved so much better. A-and I wanted more. I wanted a future where I didn’t have to be Albus Severus Potter. Where I didn’t have all those expectations and I could work out who I was for myself. That’s why I ran away.”

“You were not a useless son,” his mum says, tone low and shaky. “Albus, you were not. And you’re still not now.”

Albus looks down at the murky, frothy washing up water. “Does Dad agree with that?”

“Yes,” his mum says, taking another step forward so she’s right beside him. He can see her out of the corner of his eye. “Yes, he does.”

Albus snorts and picks up the next mug, clattering it into the sink and throwing water everywhere as he washes it with far too much ferocity.

“Your dad loves you,” Ginny says. “Very much. I know things were difficult between you but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. Not being able to communicate and not loving are two very different things.”

“He communicated just fine with James and Lily,” Albus mutters. “But then there was me. The weird, rubbish Slytherin. Not a proper Potter. Just Albus.”

Ginny sighs. “That’s not what he-“

“Can we talk about something else?” Albus asks loudly, cutting her off. “What are James and Lily doing now?”

She walks away to collect some empty breakfast plates from the kitchen table, and to fetch their abandoned mugs from the doorstep. “James is working at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. He’s developed quite a head for business actually. And Lily is at Gringotts. She’s a Curse Breaker. It’s comforting to know that almost all of my family are in potentially fatal professions.”

Albus isn’t sure how to take that comment, but when he twists round to look at her, he sees a smile on her face, and realises it was meant to be a joke. “I suppose I haven’t helped that,” he says.

She shakes her head and her smile grows an inch. “Not really. One day I’ll get used to it.”

“So does Lily work abroad? Where is she now?”

“At the moment she’s not far away, just in Germany. But in a couple of weeks she’s starting a case in Peru. Sometimes it’s difficult to keep up. She should be home before she goes, though.” His mum looks at him and a spark of hope kindles in her eyes. “I know she’d love to see you. Maybe you can come and have dinner when she’s here.”

Albus sets a plate in the drying rack and looks around at the kitchen, imagining it full of the happy hubbub of conversation and the delicious smells of dinner. The idea is a little overwhelming, but at the same time he can’t think of anything he wants more than to sit down in the kitchen with his mum and sister and brother. He’d even take his dad if he agreed to cook.

“I-I think I’d like that,” he says. “I think I’d like that very much.”

His mum beams at him. “I’ll let you know when she’ll be around and we can put something in the diary.”

“Okay,” Albus says, giving her a smile. There’s a tiny flutter of nerves in the pit of his stomach, but he thinks they’re excited nerves. They don’t feel like pure dread.

His mum doesn’t stop smiling after that. She brings over the last couple of plates and plants a kiss on the back of his head, squeezing his shoulders. “Thank you for helping with the dishes. You didn’t have to.”

Albus smiles. “I have seven years of washing up rotas to catch up on. I have to start now or I’ll be on washing up duty until I die.”

She wraps her arms round him at that and squeezes him tight. “You’re such a good boy. And we really did miss you. All of us. Terribly. I don’t think you left any of our thoughts for a second.”

Albus dries his hands on a tea towel and closes them over hers. “That’s why I have to make up for all the washing up I missed. It’s the least I can do.” He squeezes her hands, then releases her and starts drying the dishes. She doesn’t let go of him while he does it.

“Albus,” she says softly, words whispering right by his ear.

“Yes, Mum?” He asks.

“When I say your dad loves you... I hope you know it’s true.”

He glances round at her and meets her eyes. “Is it?”

She nods. “He would have done anything, given anything, to bring you home. There were nights he refused to sleep. He had nightmares... he still does.” She looks Albus right in the eye. “He still thinks about all those arguments you two had,” she says. “He thinks about what he would have said and done differently if he had the chance. And I think – I _really_ think – that he’d like chance to say sorry and start again.”

Albus wriggles round in her arms, so he’s facing her. “I tried to talk to him so many times, Mum. I didn’t want to fight. We didn’t when I was little, remember? But ever since Hogwarts started... I could never do or say anything right. It was always an argument with him. I don’t know what went wrong.”

She skims her hands gently down his arms. “I think he’d really like the chance to have another go. Seven years is a long time to reflect on everything. I think he hopes he’d do a better job now.”

Albus thinks back to the last time he’d seen his dad, just a couple of days after New Year’s Eve in his sixth year. His dad had turned up in his room and tried to help him pack. It was a nice enough gesture, but somehow it had all gone wrong. It had ended with another shouting match and his dad telling him to leave if he was so unhappy. And Albus had gone, storming out and locking himself in the freezing cold broom shed. He hadn’t come back into the house until his mum had come out at midnight, in the snow, and coaxed him back inside with hot chocolate. He’d cried himself to sleep in her arms and had slept the whole way to the station the next day. He’d slept on the train too, and most importantly he hadn’t said another word to his dad.

“I hope I’d do a better job too,” he murmurs. “I-I hope I’ve grown up a bit. I think I have...”

His mum takes his hands and squeezes them. “I think you have too.”

“It’s hard though,” he says softly, looking down at their linked hands. “The idea of seeing him again... it’s terrifying... I left to make things different, and what if I come back after all this time and nothing’s changed? I still remember how much it hurt when we fought. It made me feel like... I don’t know. I never fitted.” He looks up at his mum. “What happens if I changed my whole life and still don’t fit?”

“I don’t think it’s about fitting,” she says. “It’s about understanding. If you’re happy with how you are, if you have a life you’re satisfied with, then you don’t need to change it to fit in. We all need to work out how to embrace it.” She brushes her thumbs over the backs of his hands. “You are happy with your life, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t meet her eyes. The honest answer is that he doesn’t know anymore. Everything felt so satisfactory when it was just him and Delphi, but now he has Scorpius and his mum he’s beginning to see the gaps in his life. He misses his family, he’s missed Scorpius so much, racing has always been fun and an adrenaline rush but it’s hard work and it hurts; he can’t do it forever, but he doesn’t know what comes next. He’s been so busy trying to make his future right now that he’s never paused to think about what he wants from his life. Sometimes staying alive is such hard work that there’s no time for anything else.

“I want better O.W.L.s,” he says quietly. “And some N.E.W.T.s. Maybe. If I can get them. Then I could get a job that’s not, you know, that’s not so illegal... And I want Scorpius back, and you and James and Lily. Dad too. I don’t miss the fights but I miss _him_... It might be too much to ask, but I think if I had those things, even some of them, then I could be happy.”

His mum nods, her eyes sparkling too bright in the summer afternoon sun. “Well,” she says, and a tear trickles down her cheek and drips off her chin as she holds his hands tight. “You’ve got me. So I hope that’s a good step.”

His eyes sting as he looks at her, and within a couple of seconds she’s nothing more than a blurry outline as salty tears flood his vision. He sniffs and frees one of his hands so he can wipe the back of it across his eyes. “The best,” he chokes out, and she hugs him again.


	5. Demented

_The owl arrives at 9.24am exactly. Scorpius knows because he’s been checking his watch every other second since he woke up at dawn, wondering why the results are so late. The owl swoops in through the open back window to the kitchen, and Scorpius flails so hard in panic that he knocks the milk jug over and soaks the table cloth._

_“Sorry,” he squeaks, diving to right it before all the milk drains out. “Sorry sorry sorry.”_

_“It’s alright,” his dad says in a very patient voice. “No use crying over spilt milk. You deal with the results, I’ll deal with this.”_

_Scorpius gives him a shaky, nervous smile. “Right. Okay. I-I’ll do that.”_

_The owl has landed on the back of one of the kitchen chairs to avoid getting her feet wet, and she ruffles her feathers importantly and sticks her leg out as Scorpius looks at her. He swallows hard. His stomach feels like it’s full of Doxys, buzzing all over the place and making him feel very queasy. His hands are shaking. The last thing in the world he wants to do is take the envelope._

_“What happens if I never open them?” Scorpius asks. “I’d rather not know.”_

_His dad glances round and smiles. “Then all that hard work will have been for nothing and you won’t get a job,” his dad says, vanishing the milk with a wave of his wand._

_“Harsh, Dad.”_

_“But true.”_

_Scorpius stares at the owl and tries to tell himself that it’s just another letter, even though he knows it’s not true. His whole future is in that envelope. If he does badly now then he has nothing. He needs these results, and he needs them to be good. These results are going to prove to the world that he’s too good to be disregarded. This is how he earns his second chance._

_“What if I’ve failed everything?” He whispers._

_His dad tucks his wand away and comes over to him. He puts a hand on his shoulder and stands just behind him, looking at the owl. “Whatever it says in there, I’ll be proud of you,” he says. “And remember that they don’t define your life, Scorpius. There are plenty of people who don’t have any NEWTs and they’re doing alright.”_

_“Like Harry Potter,” Scorpius mutters._

_“I was thinking of myself,” his dad says, squeezing his shoulder._

_The owl has started pecking at the strap tying the envelope to her leg, trying to undo it with her beak. Apparently she’s getting bored. But Scorpius still isn’t ready. Whatever his dad says, this feels like everything. Make or break. Life or death._

_“Alright,” he says sharply, shaking himself. “I can do this.”_

_His dad plants a kiss on top of his head and gives him a gentle nudge forwards. “Yes you can.”_

_Scorpius lets the momentum carry him to the owl, and he unties the letter with trembling fingers, trying not to think too much about what he’s doing. When he detaches it, the owl shakes her feathers, gives a hoot that sounds like ‘finally’ and soars off out of the window, leaving Scorpius alone with just his dad and his fate._

_He holds the envelope in his hands for a moment, trying to judge from the weight of it how he’s done, even though he knows all the envelopes weigh the same. They all contain the same information. A single piece of paper with tiny letters written in black ink that will change his life forever._

_“Okay,” he whispers. “Here we go.”_

_He slits the seal on the back with a swipe of his finger and turns the envelope over so he can pull the parchment out. The envelope falls to the ground, and his dad picks it up then walks away across the room. He’s giving Scorpius space and privacy, but Scorpius wishes he wouldn’t go so far. He’s not sure his legs will hold him right now. He needs his dad’s support for this._

_His hands tremble as he unfolds the parchment. His dad has stopped on the other side of the kitchen and is watching him intently. Scorpius’s mouth has gone dry, and he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. The whole world fades away as he stares down at the page and reads._

_Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy has achieved:_

_Charms – E_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts – A_

_Herbology – E_

_Potions – A_

_Transfiguration – O_

_Tears well up in Scorpius’s eyes until he can’t see the letters anymore. He tries to blink them back because he knows his dad is watching, but it’s impossible. The bottom has just fallen out of his world. His dreams have just disappeared in front of his eyes as surely as Albus had disappeared over a year ago now. Es would have been okay, he could have coped with Es, but an A is as bad as a fail. This is the end of everything._

_The paper slips out of his hand, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to look at it anymore. He can’t hold the tears back so he buries his face in his hands and runs._

_He can’t see where he’s going, he can’t even really breathe, he’s sobbing harder than he ever has before. At the bottom of the steps up from the kitchen he trips. His foot slips and he goes sprawling headlong. He thumps his knee on the edge of the step as he falls, and it hurts so much – everything hurts so much – that he just lies there and cries into the carpet. Never in his life has he felt more hopeless._

_“Scorpius?”_

_He hears his dad’s voice, sharp with worry, and he curls up as small as he can, hoping to hide or at least show that he doesn’t want to be seen right now._

_“Scorpius...” His dad’s arms close around him, and he finds himself gathered in against his dad’s body, as if he’s still a child. He doesn’t protest, instead he curls up in his dad’s arms and buries his face in the stiff wool of his dad’s robes and cries even harder._

_“I know,” his dad murmurs, stroking his hair. “I know.”_

_“I-I-I... I did t-terribly,” Scorpius chokes out between shuddering breaths. “I-I’m useless. I’m... I’ve got n-nothing.”_

_“No,” his dad says, and even though his voice is soft it demands Scorpius’s attention. “No, you’re remarkable. The fact that you even took the exams, after everything you’ve been through... I am immeasurably proud of you, and your mother would have been too. Grades are just letters, Scorpius. They don’t matter. Not in the end. I promise you.”_

_Scorpius shakes his head. “I-I don’t know what I’m- What I’m going to do.”_

_His dad kisses him on the forehead and rubs his back. “You’re going to take a breath. You’re going to have some water. You’re definitely_ not _going to panic. And when you’ve done all that, we’ll think about what happens next.”_

_Scorpius rests his head on his dad’s shoulder and wipes his eyes on his sleeve. “I... I just w-wanted the Es. That’s it. I-I thought I could... I should have done better.”_

_“You’re allowed to be upset,” his dad murmurs. “It’s okay. But I promise it’ll be alright. We’ll make it alright. We’re Malfoys. We can do anything.”_

_Scorpius nods and wipes his eyes again, but the tears keep coming, and he doesn’t really believe it. That piece of parchment has just brought about the end of his world._

“Did I already tell you that she invited me to dinner?” Albus asks, grinning up the sky. “Because she did. And I’m definitely going to go, because I miss Dad’s food so much. Delphi, you have no idea how good my dad’s cooking is.” He closes his eyes and rubs his hand across his stomach, reminiscing about steak and kidney pie, and lasagne, and the best Sunday roasts in the world. “Mmm... it’ll be nice to see Lily too. And James.”

“So you’ve mentioned,” Delphi says, and Albus doesn’t miss the lack of enthusiasm in her voice.

He lifts his head to look at her. “Sorry. Am I being boring? I didn’t mean to. I’m just excited...”

“Not so much boring,” Delphi says, shredding the petals off a daisy she’s picked. “More perplexing.”

Albus leans on his elbows and peers at her past the glare of the sunshine. “Why perplexing?”

She shrugs and tosses away the mutilated daisy stalk. “I just don’t understand you sometimes. I don’t understand what you’re looking for.” She draws her wand and inspects it in the bright sunlight, then she starts polishing it on the grey hem of her dress. “You ran away from your family because you were miserable with them and didn’t fit in, but now you say you’ve missed them terribly and you can’t wait to see them again. Surely if you didn’t fit in then, it won’t be any better now, will it? I don’t get why you’re so excited about this. Do you _want_ to be unhappy?”

Albus picks a handful of grass and lets the blades trickle out of his hand and blow away on the breeze. “Of course I don’t want to be unhappy.” He draws his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them, staring out at the countryside around them. They’re at the top of Albus’s favourite training gorge right now, and the view of the jagged rocks below and rolling hills around, all illuminated by the most gorgeous summer sunshine, is stunning. It’s one of those places that‘s a world apart. Everything melts away out here. It’s the perfect place to think and feel. Emotion feels pure in a landscape as stark as this one, whether it’s joy or desolation. Today it’s joy – or at least it was until Delphi started being realistic.

“Maybe I won’t fit in,” he says, giving a little shrug and hugging his knees. “Maybe everything will be exactly the way it was when I left. But a lot has changed in seven years. I know I’ve changed. At least, I think I have...” He glances at her for confirmation.

She rolls her wand between her fingers, inspecting every inch of it, then she tucks it away and looks at him. “Of course you’ve changed, Sev. You’ve grown up. You’re stronger now. I thought you were strong enough that you didn’t need your family to validate you.” She shifts across the grass towards him and brushes her fingers down his arm. “It doesn’t matter what they think of you. You don’t need them. If you go back it’s a recipe for heartbreak, and I don’t want to see your heart broken. If you go back and still don’t fit in I know it’ll hurt you. You need to rise above that stuff. Stop caring. They’re in your past.”

Albus shakes his head and looks down, watching her fingers as they brush along the curve of his wrist and up towards the curl of the tattoo that winds round his elbow. “It’s not about validation anymore,” he murmurs. “I just want to see them. They’re my family, you know?”

“Not really,” Delphi says. “Maybe it’s different when you haven’t got one. _You’re_ my family, Sev. And I thought I was yours.”

Albus groans and uncurls himself, catching hold of her hand. “You are. Of course you are. But that doesn’t mean I don’t desperately miss my little sister. She was fifteen when I last saw her, and now she’s a Junior Curse-Breaker. I want to catch up with her. I want a normal meal with all of them. I want my dad’s Yorkshire puddings.”

“If you’re looking for Sunday dinner, I can get you a better one than your dad can make,” Delphi says, extracting her hand from his grip. “I can find Yorkshire puddings that would blow your mind.”

“No,” Albus says. “There isn’t one as good in the world as my dad’s.”

“Is that a challenge?” Delphi asks, a bright glint in her eyes.

Albus smiles and runs a hand through his hair. It’s started to get a bit longer again already. Sometimes it feels like it refuses to stay short. “It’s not. But if you want to find me amazing Yorkshire puddings then I won’t complain. Honestly, though, Delphi... as hard as it is to believe after everything... I really have missed them.” He shakes his head and picks a bright yellow dandelion, brushing his fingers over the puff of the petals. “I want to feel like part of a family again, even if it’s hard.”

Delphi flicks her ponytail back over her shoulder and swats a bumblebee away from her. “Have you ever thought that love is just a little bit masochistic? You’ll happily throw yourself at all these people who’ve proven they’re bad for you, all in the name of family and love.” She says the last three words in this dramatic, mocking way, pressing a hand over her heart, and Albus can’t help but laugh.

“You’ve known me for almost half my life, Delphi. How are you surprised that I’m interested in doing something masochistic?”

Delphi looks at him for a moment, then she smiles and reaches out to shove at his arm. “You’re an idiot.”

Albus grins. “I know. A masochistIc idiot with a death wish. It’s the only way I survive being around you.”

She shoves him again, and he shoves her back then throws the dandelion at her before hopping to his feet.

“Okay, I need to get another run in before I go.”

Delphi twists round to face him, looking up at him, her legs crossed neatly in front of her. “Go where?”

Albus smirks at her. “I happen to have a hot date with one Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. I need to go and put on something that’s not-“ He picks at the damaged shoulder of his t-shirt, “burned, or charred, or full of holes.”

Delphi snorts. “Good luck with that.” She picks herself up off the ground. “How do you have another date with him already? You only saw him two days ago. Aren’t you bored of him yet?”

Albus presses both hands to his heart. “I’m in love, Delphi. Love doesn’t get bored.”

She rolls her eyes and draws her wand, twirling it between her fingers. “Well, I think it’s overkill. I don’t think he’s doing you any good. You’ve gone all weird and nostalgic. Is this why you’re so obsessed with seeing your family again?” She asks. “Did Scorpius put you up to it?”

Albus shrugs and picks his broom up. “We talked about it a bit. I don’t think I’d have done it if he hadn’t been around... but he didn’t ‘put me up to it’ exactly.”

“Hmm,” Delphi says sceptically.

“You can judge me,” Albus says, pointing a finger at her, “and you can judge him, but you’re not stopping us. Maybe if my flying was getting worse you might have an argument, but you can hardly call him a distraction when I won every race in the last meet. He might even make me better.”

“For now,” she says, and there’s an unexpected darkness to her voice, a coldness to her expression, and there’s something about the way she’s eyeing her wand that sends shivers down his spine. But then he blinks and she’s smiling at him and her wand is held loosely at his side. His imagination must be playing tricks on him, or maybe it was a weird shadow cast by the sun. He shakes himself and smiles back at her.

“Go on,” she says, reaching across and punching him very gently on the shoulder.

“Ow,” he says indignantly, pulling away and rubbing his arm. “That hurt.”

“Sshh, I barely touched you.” She pokes him in the back. “I thought you had a date? Get flying, or I might have to keep you here running drills all night.”

Albus doesn’t need telling twice. He salutes her, mounts his broom, and kicks off from the ground for another exhilarating, thrilling run down the gorge, that keeps him just on the exciting edge between life and death.

“I am in the right place then,” Scorpius says, getting to his feet as Albus approaches. He’s been perching on the wall that runs along by the canal for the last half an hour. The whole time there’s been no sign of Albus or any possible dinner venue. It’s just been him, a family of geese, and a solitary canal boat.

Albus beams at him and nods, his disconcertingly brown eyes sparkling in the orange glow of the streetlight overhead. “Yes, this is it. You look...” He spreads his hands and gestures to Scorpius, taking in the full height of him. Scorpius hopes that’s a good thing, and that the smart, very slim fitting trousers he’s wearing that took him half an hour to ease himself into are paying off.

“Yes,” Albus says with a nod. “Yes, you look- Yes.”

Scorpius grins. Rendering Albus speechless isn’t the outcome he was imagining, but he’s quite happy about it.

“You also look yes,” he says, shooting Albus a teasing smile. “Very very yes.”

Albus goes a little bit pink in the cheeks, and Scorpius can’t help but wonder whether Albus knows that he always looks incredible, just particularly so tonight. He’s wearing what looks to be a smart, tailored dragon-hide jacket, that at first glimpse looked black, but now Scorpius has seen it in the light it might be green or even silver. He’s paired it with what Scorpius thinks of as quite normal Albus-y jeans, which isn’t even remotely a bad decision. His hair is as hopelessly messy as always, possibly even more so because it’s too short for him to try and tame, and running round the edge of his left ear is a long, silver snake, that gazes at Scorpius with glittering emerald eyes and flicks its tongue out at him.

“Your snake isn’t dangerous, is he?” Scorpius asks.

Albus laughs and strokes his fingers along the length of the silver body. “No. Just decorative. I think he’s meant to let you know if there’s danger nearby or something, but he’s always been a bit useless, haven’t you, Hector?”

The snake hisses and coils his tail into a spiral against Albus’s earlobe.

Scorpius swallows. “You called your snake... Hector?”

Albus glances at him, and Scorpius still isn’t used to the brown of his eyes. It’s so deep and impenetrable. It doesn’t have the same sharpness to it. He can’t read Albus the way he could when his eyes were green. Or maybe that’s just the passage of years.

“Was it alright to call him that? Sometimes...” He trails off, shaking his head.

“Sometimes?” Scorpius prompts.

“Sometimes,” Albus says slowly, not meeting his eyes, “I needed things to remind me of you. When I missed you. So I could pretend you were still there, and that I hadn’t, you know, that I hadn’t fucked everything up.”

Scorpius surveys him for a moment, then he looks down at his hands. “I got a new owl after my N.E.W.T.s... I called him Albus. I mean, technically I called him Al, and my dad always thought I’d called him ‘Owl’ – he still teases me about how lacking in creativity I was – but...” He glances up at Albus, who’s watching him intently. “I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t let you call your snake Hector. Don’t you think?”

Albus stares at him for several long seconds. “You named your owl after me,” he says finally.

Scorpius shrugs. “In tribute. When I thought I would never see you again. In hindsight it seems a bit weird... but at the time... I needed it.”

Albus nods and twists his fingers together, looking distinctly uncomfortable now. It’s so easy to forget that they’ve been apart for seven years, but moments like this are the starkest possible reminder. There’s an awkwardness in remembering that their lives have gone on so long without each other, and Scorpius doesn’t quite know how to combat it yet.

“So,” he says, trying to cut through the weird tension between them. “Where is this restaurant you’re taking me to? Because it seems like we’re in the middle of nowhere right now, and restaurants don’t tend to be in the middle of nowhere... do they?”

Albus brightens instantly. “This one does. Come on.” He holds his hand out to Scorpius, and Scorpius takes great pleasure in weaving his fingers with Albus’s and allowing himself to be guided along the towpath.

There’s an iron arc of a bridge up ahead, and they cross it and start walking back down the towpath in the opposite direction. Scorpius doesn’t entirely trust that Albus knows where he’s going, but they haven’t walked nearly far enough yet for him to worry too much. Also, Albus looks purposeful rather than lost, so that’s comforting at least.

“We’re going in here,” Albus says as they reach the abandoned canal boat Scorpius had noticed earlier. It’s derelict, the windows all dusty, spiders webs clinging to every inch of it, and it looks a bit leaky too; there’s a murky puddle of water where someone should be able to stand and steer. The whole sight doesn’t inspire much confidence.

“Are you sure?” Scorpius asks. “Like, really one hundred percent positive? Because it looks a bit... damp. Which tends to be a problem for a boat.”

Albus grins and squeezes his hand. “Can you manage to trust me?”

“Well yes, but...” He gestures to himself. “I really like these trousers, Albus. If we end up in the canal and they get ruined I’m blaming you.”

Albus nods solemnly. “I understand.” He steps right to the edge of the towpath and lifts his hand to help Scorpius across. “After you, sir.”

“Thank you,” Scorpius says. “I think.” He flashes Albus a slightly nervous smile, then steps across the gap onto the boat.

It rocks as he climbs aboard, but he barely notices, because the second his feet touch the deck, the space transforms around him. The cobwebs and scummy puddles melt away to be replaced by white roses and sparkling magical lights. He’s not standing on the narrow deck of a canal boat, but a far more spacious platform with a set of double doors that lead into a grand room that, from what he can see through the windows, reminds him of the ballroom at home. It’s not quite big enough to be palatial, it’s still relatively intimate in scale, but Scorpius can see a lot of gold leaf, white table cloths, crystal champagne flutes, and glittering candelabras.

Albus steps aboard next to him, a smug little smile on his face. He looks exceptionally pleased with himself, and he nudges Scorpius on the arm. “You doubted me.”

“For a second,” Scorpius says. “But this is...” He looks around at the beautiful deck they’re standing on and shakes his head. “How did you even find this place?”

“Someone recommended it to me,” Albus says. “I’ve been here alone a couple of times, but I’ve been waiting for the right person to share it with.” The smile he gives Scorpius then is soft and a little bit shy, and Scorpius can’t help but draw him in closer, brushing a hand over his shoulder and down to his heart. For an instant they look at each other, then Scorpius leans in and kisses him.

It’s just as warm and heartstopping as their kisses from two days ago. Scorpius doesn’t have much to compare them to, but he imagines that Albus must be a very good kisser. And then there’s the fact that he’s Albus. He could be the worst kisser in the world, and Scorpius would still want to be kissing him. No one else in the world tastes or smells or feels like this. No one else in the world is so small and solid and fiery. Albus is entirely unique, and he’s everything that Scorpius has ever wanted or needed.

When they draw apart, Scorpius keeps his hand resting on Albus’s chest, and Albus keeps his on Scorpius’s shoulder, and for a moment they simply look at each other. Then Albus’s cheeks go pink, and a tiny contented smile spreads across his face as he ducks his head and twists away.

“If you keep looking at me like that we’re never going to make it inside for dinner,” he says. “And I really do want you to taste this food. Plus I’m starving. I’ve been training all day.”

“Where have you been training?” Scorpius asks, simply out of curiosity because he knows Albus hasn’t been at the training ground. His surveillance spells would have picked him up.

“That would be telling,” Albus says. He squeezes Scorpius’s hand. “If I drink enough champagne you might tease it out of me.” He kisses the back of Scorpius’s hand and leads the way into the restaurant.

“What’s your favourite hot drink?” Albus asks, taking another sip of his champagne.

“Earl Grey tea,” Scorpius says without a second of hesitation. “But with sugar, and milk. None of that lemon nonsense.”

“I thought you were going to say hot chocolate,” Albus says, setting his champagne glass down and reaching across to steal one of Scorpius’s left over chips.

“It depends on the hot chocolate,” Scorpius says with a shrug. “Some of it’s a bit sweet.”

Albus drops his chip. “Did you, Scorpius Malfoy, just say that some hot chocolate is a bit sweet?”

Scorpius smiles. “I think I did.”

Albus shakes his head. “Wow... Okay. Well now you’ve blown my mind. I think it’s your turn to ask a question.”

Scorpius leans back in his seat and surveys Albus across their empty plates. “Where’s your favourite place to visit on holiday?”

Albus steals another chip and wipes it through the remainder of the jus on his plate. “It wasn’t exactly a holiday, but I really enjoyed visiting the Alps.” He pops the chip in his mouth and wipes his fingers on his napkin. “I like mountains, and hills. You get an amazing view. Flying in the Alps was... I’ll never do anything like it again.” He sits forward in his seat and rests his elbows on the table. “We stayed in this town that was in France, but it was just a mile to Italy, and there were the most amazing markets on both sides. The food was to die for. I would go back there again in a heartbeat.”

Scorpius smiles. “Did you learn any French while you were there?”

“Oui,” Albus says, eyes glinting with mischief in the candlelight. “J’ai appris un petit peu de français.”

Scorpius’s brain scrambles. There’s something about Albus speaking French, of all languages, that makes him feel all fuzzy and addled. His accent is far from perfect, and Scorpius doubts his vocabulary extends far beyond what he’s just said, but none of that matters, because it’s _Albus_ speaking _French_.

“Was it that bad?” Albus asks, some of the gleam disappearing from his eyes as he looks at Scorpius, who becomes aware that he still hasn’t outwardly reacted.

Scorpius swallows. “Non. C’etait parfait.” _Just like you_.

Albus nods. “Okay. Well... that’s pretty much all I know how to say, so even if it was rubbish you don’t need to suffer anymore. And I think it’s my turn to ask a question.” He brushes his fingers over a crease in the table cloth and frowns. “If you could do any job other than the one you’re doing, what would you do?”

“I would work for the Department of Mysteries,” Scorpius says, and once again he doesn’t have to give it even a second of thought. It’s been his dream for as long as he can remember, even if it’s a broken dream these days. He’s had to discard it and refocus, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still there. Even an impossible dream still gleams painfully bright, just out of reach, tantalising and heartbreaking.

“That’s what you’ve always wanted to do,” Albus says. “Why didn’t you?”

Scorpius has no idea how to answer that. The answer itself is easy, but saying it? To Albus? He can’t do that.

“My life went in a different direction,” he says, with a very small smile that doesn’t come easily. “That’s all.”

“What changed?” Albus asks, now running his finger round the rim of his champagne glass and making it sing.

Scorpius picks his own glass up and drains it in one, from half full to empty in a second. He’s going to regret that in a minute. “You left,” he says simply, then he gets to his feet so he doesn’t have to see the reaction to that. “I think I need some air. It’s hot in here.”

“There’s a deck upstairs,” Albus says, and Scorpius can tell by how quiet his voice is that he’s already processing those two words. “It’s nice up there.”

Scorpius nods. “Right. I’ll be upstairs then.” And with that he turns and runs.

It’s cool on the upper deck of the boat. There’s a gentle breeze blowing, making the still water ripple. The reflection of the big, yellow rising moon goes all ruffled, and the willow trees by the towpath sway and rustle. Overhead the sky is beginning to turn the deep blue of night, with just a couple of wispy silver clouds breaking up the endless expanse of sky and stars. There’s nothing like a night sky to remind him of how small and insignificant he is in the universe.

He goes over to the edge of the deck and braces himself against the slim, golden balustrade. A couple of fairies that were perched there flitter away, one of them alighting briefly on his shoulder and leaving a light sprinkling of silver dust behind.

He gazes right down into the water and takes several deep breaths. No matter how far away from that last year and a half of school he gets, it still aches to think about. All those impossible days, all those wasted opportunities. He still regrets not coping better. He should have found a way. He should have let it all go. Losing someone shouldn’t have impacted his future the way it did. People disappear but life goes on, that’s how it is. He’d known that at the time but it hadn’t helped. His life shouldn’t have ended or even changed course because Albus went away, but it did, and now that Albus has come waltzing back into his life as if nothing happened it stings even more.

He blinks and an angry tear plops down into the canal below. Sniffing, he brushes the back of his hand across his eyes and draws in a deep lungful of the sweet, fresh evening air. The last thing he wants to do now is ruin this date with his inability to cope with the past. That would be stupid.

The fact that Albus left is immaterial now because he’s back. He’s back, he’s here, and he wants Scorpius. And Scorpius wants him. His heart may be bruised and broken, but that’s not entirely Albus’s fault. There were a lot of things that made life the way it is now, and Albus leaving may have been the catalyst for almost all of them, but that doesn’t make it all directly Albus’s fault. It’s so much more complicated than that, and if there’s one thing that Scorpius is fascinated by, it’s the complexity of the world he inhabits.

Albus was hurting too, that’s the truth of it. Albus couldn’t stay still. Albus had reached a point where he had nothing tying him down. But Scorpius had his dad and his studies. He’s the only family his dad has left; he loves his dad with every fibre of his being, just as much as he loves Albus, if not more. And he always loved school simply because he enjoyed unlocking the secrets of the universe. Those two things kept Scorpius grounded. And if he hadn’t had them, there’s no doubt in his mind that he would have gone with Albus in a heartbeat.

Albus has a freedom that Scorpius can never and will never match. It’s frustrating but it’s a fact of life. Scorpius doesn’t resent Albus for leaving, he just wishes he’d done a better job of carving his life out the way he wanted once he’d made his choice to stay. Albus has everything he wants in his life, leaving has worked so well for him, but Scorpius has nothing, or very little at least, and having Albus here throws that contrast between them into sharp relief. The fact that he can’t even manage to pretend that life is good only makes his failure more humiliating.

He skims his hand along the cool metal of the balustrade and bows his head, getting lost in the rocking of the boat, the shifting breeze, and the rustle of the willows. It’s so peaceful. He wants to feel like part of that peace.

He’s just drawn in another long breath when he hears the deck behind him creak. He doesn’t jump, he’s calm enough not to react that strongly, but he does slowly lift his head and look round to see Albus standing there – of course it’s Albus – looking more than a little bit terrified.

“Scorpius,” he murmurs.

“Albus,” Scorpius says, and he knows his voice sounds all choked. He turns his back on Albus to try and hide the fact that he’s been up here crying. That’s the last thing Albus needs to see.

“I-I didn’t... realise,” Albus whispers, only just louder than the sound of the willows. “I thought... You seem so...” He waves a hand then shakes his head and digs his hands into his pockets. “But you’ve been unhappy and it’s my fault. You don’t have what you want. You’re not doing what you want. It’s because of me, it’s because I-“ The deck creaks as he takes several more steps forward. “I’m sorry, Scorpius.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “It’s not your fault. It’s not. But that doesn’t-“ He hiccups and wipes his eyes on his sleeve. “That doesn’t mean it was easy when you ran away.”

Scorpius falls silent, expecting Albus to have plenty to say to that. He expects Albus to defend himself, to try and explain why he ran. Albus is so good at fighting back, even when it’s not a fight. But today there’s none of that. He stands in perfect stillness and quiet until Scorpius works out what he wants to say next.

“I didn’t really do well,” Scorpius says, glancing over his shoulder towards Albus. “You were a big part of why I loved school so much, and when you were gone it got difficult. Very difficult. I-“ He shakes his head and digs the tips of his fingers into the tight pockets of his trousers. “I’d take notes for you sometimes. I thought if you ever came back you’d need to be able to catch up. And as it got closer to the exams I realised it was impossible, that you’d never come back now because you couldn’t possibly catch up. That was like losing you all over again.”

He turns and looks at Albus. “I started to realise that all the things I’d still been half hoping for would never happen. We’d never finish the final exams together. We’d never sit by the lake and drink Butterbeer and celebrate our last few months of freedom. You’d never sit next to me at the final feast. I’d never get to offer you Pepper Imps on the last train back to King’s Cross.” His eyes have gone all watery again and his voice all shaky so he pauses, but Albus still doesn’t say anything. He’s gone unusually pale. It looks like he’s just been hit by the Hogwarts Express.

Scorpius sniffs and traces his fingers over the soft petals of the roses that are wound round the balustrade next to him. “I didn’t do spectacularly in my exams. I still got an O in Transfiguration-“

“Of course you did,” Albus murmurs, giving him a small, shaky smile.

“But I spent most of the Potions exam crying – you would have loved that exam; all I could think was how well you’d have done if you’d stayed long enough to try it.”

“Do you think?” Albus asks.

“Yes,” Scorpius says. “Yes I do. Like I said before, you were never bad, you just lacked confidence. If you believe you can do something in magic then normally you can. Anyway.”

“Anyway,” Albus echoes.

“My results came,” Scorpius continues, twisting his fingers together for a moment before dropping his hands to his side. “They were abysmal, at least for me. My dreams went up in flames. I didn’t even have you to talk to about it all. And your dad was the only person willing to give me a job. He took pity on me, so here I still am. The most junior official in the least prestigious bit of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, doing the jobs no one else wants. Like, for example, trying to shut down an illegal broom racing league.”

“Wait.” Albus frowns at him. “I don’t think I understand... Don’t you have a really good job? You get to arrest people, and- You have power.”

Scorpius snorts. “Hardly. This is the first solo case I’ve done, and only because no one else has time for it.”

“But... You’re you. You’re amazing. Why would you have a rubbish job?”

Scorpius smiles. “You sound like my dad. But honestly, Albus. Better a shit job than no job at all. I’m grateful for it. And now I just have to prove I can do it by shutting down your league once and for all.” He gives Albus a bright smile.

“You don’t have to look so happy about it,” Albus counters, but he’s smiling too.

“I’m actually quite excited about ruining your life,” Scorpius says cheerfully. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were,” Albus says, looking down at his hands. “I did a really good job of fucking everything up for you. It’s the least I deserve.”

Scorpius sighs. “I was definitely joking, Albus. I don’t blame you for leaving. It was the right thing for you, and it helped you, didn’t it?”

Albus hesitates, then he walks across to Scorpius and takes hold of his hand. “You know, I didn’t much like my life without you in it. It was alright while I was away, but now I’m back I’d rather be here.”

Scorpius strokes his thumb over the back of Albus’s hand and nods. “I’d rather you were here too.”

Albus looks down at their hands for a moment, then up at Scorpius’s face. “You’re all tearstained and snotty.”

Scorpius smiles and ducks his head, wiping his cheeks on the now sodden sleeve of his shirt. “I’d better sort that out or you won’t want to kiss me again.”

Albus draws his wand. “Here.” He waves it and nothing happens. “Okay maybe I shouldn’t try and be chivalrous.” He takes a very deep breath and tries again. Still nothing.

“Confidence,” Scorpius says, nudging him gently on the arm. “If you believe it’ll happen it’ll happen. You can do it.”

Albus nods and tightens his grip on his wand. He looks Scorpius in the eye and waves his wand once again. This time a white handkerchief comes floating out of the end, and Albus catches it and grins. “I conjured something!”

Scorpius beams at him. “I told you you could do it.”

Albus doesn’t bother to hand Scorpius the handkerchief and let him mop himself up, he just stretches up and tiptoes and plants a solid kiss on his lips. Scorpius gives a soft gasp of surprise and flails his hands around for a second, thrown by the suddenness and confidence of the kiss, before catching hold of Albus’s shoulders to steady him. When they pull apart Scorpius’s cheeks feel considerably warmer, and he’s a little light headed. He keeps hold of Albus’s arm and smiles at him.

“I thought you didn’t want to kiss me when I was covered in snot?”

“You are a bit soggy,” Albus admits. “But I’ll let you off.” He hands over the handkerchief and tucks his wand away. “I haven’t conjured anything in years. That felt really good.”

Scorpius blows his nose. “You’re hot when you’re doing complicated magic. I mean, you’re hot all the time, but _particularly_ when you’re doing the magic.”

“Well now I know that I’ll do it all the time.” Albus runs a hand down Scorpius’s arm and weaves their fingers together. He moves round and leans against the balustrade, and Scorpius watches him gaze down at the water, golden candlelight flickering on his face.

“I like it up here,” he murmurs.

Scorpius nods. “It’s peaceful. And the company is remarkably fine, which always helps.”

Albus leans an inch or so closer to him, and Scorpius drops his hand and winds an arm round his waist instead.

“You know,” he says quietly, “as difficult as it was without you, and as much as I’d rather have had life turn out the way I hoped it would... If this is how things had to happen then I’m glad they happened exactly like this.”

“Mmm?” Albus asks, glancing up at him.

Scorpius nods. “If I wasn’t in my rubbish Ministry job then I might never have found you again.”

“I suppose not.” Albus leans back against his chest. “It’s funny how the world works sometimes.”

“It is...”

Albus’s shoulders rise and fall, and Scorpius feels the swell of his body as he breathes. Silence stretches between them, broken only by the crying of a moorhen in the distance and the sweep of the wind through the willows.

Finally Albus glances up at Scorpius. “I’ve been thinking about retaking my O.W.L.s and maybe even trying a couple of N.E.W.T.s. Sometimes I study a bit when I’m not busy. Maybe... maybe we could do it together. Maybe we could help each other. Then you can get a job you love and I can have a hope of getting _any_ job.” He smiles. “Illegal broom racing can’t last forever. Especially since you’re going to do a magnificent job of shutting us down.”

“If you help me out with Potions, I’ll be eternally grateful,” Scorpius says.

Albus holds his hand out. “Deal, then?”

Scorpius shakes it and squeezes it tight. “Deal.” They look at each other for a heartbeat, then Scorpius pulls Albus in and kisses him again.

They stay out on top of the deck for a while after that, until the sun is fully set and a light patter of warm summer rain begins to fall. At that point they return to the restaurant and take shelter, sharing a pair of desserts. Albus spends the whole time mocking Scorpius for ordering a rich, sickly sweet chocolate fondant.

“I thought you couldn’t handle sweet stuff anymore, Scorpius? Am I going to have to help you finish this? I don’t want you throwing up on our date.”

They each finish another glass of champagne and watch as the rain dapples the surface of the water outside the window. Scorpius feels like his limbs are full of sunshine. He feels buoyant and buzzy. It’s a good feeling, especially since he’s sharing it with Albus, whose eyes are gleaming and who is laughing a lot, hair all messy and cheeks all pink. This is how life should be. This feels wonderful.

It’s late when they finally leave the restaurant. Albus insists on paying because “for one thing, this is the least I owe you, and for another, now I’m a successful athlete I earn enough money to keep you in the manner to which you’re accustomed”. Scorpius tries to argue but doesn’t get very far. There’s no one more stubborn than Albus Severus Potter.

They get outside to discover that it’s raining harder than ever. Their plan to let it blow over has severely backfired, and it’s getting cold now too. There’s a bite to the evening air, and the rain has gone icy.

Albus draws his wand and sets about trying to cast an Umbrella Charm, which Scorpius talks him through even though they’re both getting soaked and it would be quicker to cast it himself. Finally the shimmer silver outline of an umbrella unfolds above them, and Albus holds it up high, looking quite pleased with himself.

“I’ve never done one of those before either.”

Scorpius kisses him on the cheek. “You’re having a very good evening. You’re also very short,” he says, ducking under the Charm.

Albus elbows him in the ribs. “Well you’re very tall. I can’t help your problems.” He acquiesces though and lifts the umbrella a little higher as they set off down the towpath, heading in the direction of Albus’s house.

Scorpius knows he should probably be going home, his dad will worry about him, but he doesn’t want to say goodbye just yet, so he’s more than happy to go with Albus for now. Despite the tiny blip in the middle, this evening has been idyllic; it’s one of those nights that Scorpius never wants to end. Sometimes in the midst of an evening he’ll become aware that it’s one he wants to remember forever, and he feels that now as he looks across at Albus holding the umbrella up and watching the rain rippling on the still canal.

“Albus?” He says softly.

Albus glances at him, face shadowed by the overhanging trees. Now the moon has gone in and the clouds have covered the sky, it’s gone very dark. “Yes, Scorpius?”

“I... I love you,” Scorpius says, then he flashes Albus a tiny smile. “I hope that’s okay.”

Albus’s eyes go wide, then his face relaxes into a beautiful, sparkling smile. “Well,” he says, “I hope it is too, because I feel the same.”

They kiss again, under the trees on the dark towpath, with the rain pouring down on them. Albus abandons the umbrella as he wraps his arms round Scorpius to pull him closer, and they both quickly get soaking wet, clothes and hair clinging to them. Earlier it wouldn’t have been a problem, it was so warm, but now it’s getting cold, really cold, and by the time they pull apart Albus is shivering.

“Come home with me,” he says, offering Scorpius a hand. “It’s freezing out here. I don’t know when it got so cold. Your fingers are like ice.”

“Poor circulation,” Scorpius says, squeezing his hand. “But I probably shouldn’t, as much as I really want to. Dad will be worrying. He might even be waiting up for me.”

“You could Firecall him from mine,” Albus offers.

Scorpius snorts. “That would go down really well. ‘Oh, hi Dad, I’m calling you _from Albus’s house_ to let you know I’m staying the night here’. I think he might freak out just a little bit over that one. I may be an adult but he still gets funny sometimes.”

“He’s your dad,” Albus says. “Isn’t it his job to worry about you?”

“If it is then he’s the most consummate professional.”

They swing their hands between them as they keep walking, but they don’t get far before Scorpius is shivering almost too hard to move. Aside from being soaked, he’s wearing a short sleeved shirt on a night that’s now as cold as any night in winter. He needs a jumper at least, if not a thick coat. It really shouldn’t be this cold. Or, come to think of it, this dark, and there’s a fog rolling in along the canal, thick and grey, bringing an even deeper chill.

“This weather is really weird,” he murmurs, taking a step closer to Albus.

“It is a bit,” Albus says lightly. He doesn’t seem too concerned though, brushing the toes of his shoes through the puddles and flicking the water along the path. He looks like he’s ready to start dancing, and that sort of vibrant happiness would normally be infectious, but now Scorpius feels a prickling on the back of his neck, an uneasiness in his belly, and the urge to draw his wand and light it is growing by the second.

There’s a street lamp up ahead but it’s flickering, and Scorpius is reminded her again of how terribly dark it is. Now the sun has set and the moon has hidden itself there’s nothing illuminating the path ahead, and that dodgy street lamp is doing nothing either. It’s a bit creepy, the shapes of the trees becoming claws, the pools of shadow hiding places for nothing good.

Scorpius draws his wand and lights it. Beside him Albus groans and turns towards him, burying his face in Scorpius’s shoulder.

“Too bright.”

“I know,” Scorpius whispers, suddenly conscious of how loud they’re being. “I know, I’m sorry, but it’s really dark.”

“It’s night time,” Albus complains, not keeping his voice down at all. “Of course it’s dark. We were fine without a light before, and we’re nearly at the bridge.”

“Sshh,” Scorpius murmurs, squeezing his shoulder. “I know, but-“ He breaks off as he spots something.

There’s an icicle in Albus’s hair. Where the water was dripping off a slightly longer strand of hair by his neck, it’s frozen solid. There are ice crystals through the rest of his hair too, and in Scorpius’s wandlight it looks as though it’s been encrusted with diamond. But this isn’t beautiful, this is terrifying. Hair shouldn’t freeze, not here in the UK, not even in winter, and this is the height of summer. It’s dark, it’s freezing cold, there’s a fog drifting in. There’s only one thing that can be causing this, and that’s-

He hears a long, shallow, rattling breath behind him and pure terror seizes every fibre of his being.

“Albus,” he says, shaking Albus’s arm. “Run. Right now.”

Either Albus has worked out what’s happening too, or he recognises the urgency in Scorpius’s voice, because he turns around and starts to run. But he only gets a couple of steps before there’s a second horrible, sickly rasp of a breath from the towpath in front of him, and he skitters back towards Scorpius as the large, black, sinister shape of a Dementor looms out of the darkness and blocks their escape.

“Oh shit,” Albus squeaks. “Scorpius, that’s a-“

“Yes,” Scorpius breathes. “And I can’t fight it. Albus, help.”

The world is closing in around him. When he turns to the left he sees another Dementor hovering there, inching closer, one scaly hand already sliding out from beneath its robe. The fog isn’t just on the canal now, it’s inside his brain. He can distantly hear people saying his name, mocking and cruel. He can practically feel the jostle of a crowd around him, people shoving him from all sides, and even though it’s a busy street he knows the pushing is deliberate. He can tell.

“You should be in Azkaban,” someone calls. “They should lock you up and throw away the key.”

“It’s him,” someone else says, pointing a finger in Scorpius’s face. “It’s Voldemort’s son. You shouldn’t be out in public.”

“Get off the streets. Don’t come back here. You don’t belong.”

“Disgusting.”

“Evil.”

“Murderer.”

He feels again the thick, wet globule of spit hit him in the face and start trickling down his cheek. It shocks him, the suddenness of it, and that foul hot, slick feeling.

Then he feels something much softer, the brush of an ice cold hand against his.

“Scorpius... Scorpius what do we do? I’ve never cast a- I can’t. I haven’t even- Please, you need to do something.”

The sound of Albus’s voice penetrates through the fog in Scorpius’s head, and he manages to find his way out of the past and back to reality.

Albus is pressed close against his side. He’s shaking, and he’s staring from side to side at the two Dementors. His breathing is shallow and panicked. Normally in a crisis Albus is the one who keeps his head and works out what to do, but apparently not today.

“I-I’ve never cast a Patronus either,” Scorpius whispers. “I don’t know if I can...”

“What?” Albus gasps, head whipping round to stare at Scorpius. “You’ve never- _How_ have you never?”

Scorpius shrugs and twists his wand round in his hand. “Defence Against the Dark Arts was never exactly my strong point, Albus... and I never managed to find the right memory. I could never...” He gestures to the two Dementors with his wand and tries not to let himself collapse into sheer panic. Already he’s thinking of all the things he’s never had chance to say to his dad, but he can’t think about that now. He can’t. He has to be stronger than this.

“Well If you can’t do it, then what hope do I have?” Albus asks.

“I don’t know,” Scorpius says, a wave of despair overcoming him. They’re going to die here on this towpath. There’s no way out.

The owl flutters down onto the chair in front of him, and he stares again at the envelope that holds his fate. Then he’s running headlong from the future. His feet slip on the steps and he sprawls, banging his knee. His dad is there telling him that everything will be okay, but it won’t. How can it be?”

“Confidence.” Albus’s voice snaps through the foggy darkness, clear as day, and Scorpius blinks and looks at him. “If you believe you can do it, you can do it, right? I believe you can do this. A-and I suppose I can have a go.”

He draws his wand and directs it at the nearest Dementor. “Expecto Patronum.” A feeble, silvery wisp floats out of the end and evaporates in an instant as the Dementor stretches out one scaly, emaciated hand to brush it aside.

“Expecto Patronum,” Albus says again, this time louder and with more certainty. “Expecto- E-Expecto Patronum.” It doesn’t work. He may as well be conjuring handkerchiefs at the Dementors for all the good it’s doing.

Scorpius feels so clammy and cold. Life isn’t really worth living, is it? It would be easier to give up. His life has been awful since Albus left. This would be a welcome escape.

The Dementor nearest him is reaching up its hand towards its hood. It’s locked onto him with malevolent intent, and Scorpius knows what’s going to happen next. He just wishes Albus wasn’t here with him to suffer the same fate, he wishes he could say goodbye to his dad, and he wishes the Dementor would move faster and end this without prolonging the suffering.

“Albus,” he rasps, knees sagging under the weight of the cold and encroaching darkness. “I-I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Albus grabs hold of his shirt to keep him upright, arms round him, supporting him. “No,” he says. “ _I’m_ sorry. I shouldn’t have abandoned you. I should have stayed or I should have told you where I was going, or... I should have trusted you.”

“‘S alright,” Scorpius says, words slurring and vision darkening. “All over now. And you’re here... If I- If I had to choose a companion to be at the edge of eternal darkness with, I’d choose you.”

“And I’d choose you,” Albus says without hesitation, running a hand down Scorpius’s chest and flattening it against his heart. “I love you. I do. I really do. Scorpius.” He clenches his fist in the fabric of Scorpius’s shirt and tugs on it. “We can’t give up. I don’t want to give up. Please.” He doesn’t let go of Scorpius as he twists round and directs his wand over Scorpius’s shoulder towards the Dementor that’s slowly lowering its hood.

“Expecto Patronum. Expecto Patronum. Expecto Patronum!”

There’s a warmth to the spell. Even though Albus isn’t doing nearly enough to fight off a pair of hungry Dementors, he is shooting enough silvery mist at them to make the air feel less cold.

The spell washes over Scorpius and he inhales sharply, some of the fog clearing from his brain. He realises – truly realises – that Albus, the real, live, actual Albus, is standing right next to him, clinging to him and trying to save them. Albus who’s an adult, who’s grown up, who looks so beautiful and says he loves Scorpius. Albus who is back, hopefully for good.

A tiny spark of hope rekindles in Scorpius’s heart and he fumbles for his wand with frozen fingers. Maybe he doesn’t want to give up on this life after all. Maybe, after everything, it’s starting to look up.

The pocket of his trousers is very tight, and now it’s damp it’s almost impossible to get into. It doesn’t help that he can’t feel his fingertips, and that the putrid, stinking breath of the Dementor is making him want to be violently sick.

“Albus,” he says. “I can’t get-“

Albus glances down and sees the problem. “Here,” he says, and he blows on his fingers for a second before reaching down and carefully teasing the wand from Scorpius’s pocket and handing it to him.

A warm glow trickles through Scorpius’s fingers as he closes them round the handle of his wand, and Albus’s fingertips brush against his hand for the briefest moment before he lets go. They look at each other, and even though Albus’s eyes are still brown, impenetrably dark at the moment, he’s still Albus, and he still gives Scorpius confidence and hope.

“You can do this,” Albus murmurs. “ _We_ can do this.”

Scorpius nods. “Yes we can.”

He transfers his wand to his left hand and holds tight to Albus with his right, as he turns to face the Dementors.

When they were first taught this spell back in seventh year, he was worse than useless. All he could think of when he searches for a happy memory was Albus, but Albus was gone and not coming back. Every good memory of the two of them together was suffused with the pain of loss, so even when Scorpius tried with all his might to cast the spell absolutely nothing happened.

But that’s not a problem anymore. Albus is right here beside him, holding his hand, facing down the Dementors with him. If Scorpius is ever going to succeed at this spell then it’s now.

“Expecto Patronum,” he says, and a thin wash of mist shoots out of the end of his wand and dissolves in the rainy air. “Expecto Patronum,” he repeats, this time with more force, and now the spell reaches further, all the way to the closest Dementor, who brushes it effortlessly aside.

Beside him, Albus is faltering. He doesn’t see it happen, but he feels Albus’s weight pulling on his hand and when he glances sideways, Albus is slumped on the ground, and the second Dementor’s awful, scaly hand is clamped round his wrist. It’s dragging him in, already pulling its hood back to consume him.

“Don’t you dare,” Scorpius shouts, voice ringing through the night as he’s flooded with a furious anger like none he’s felt before. He’s not losing Albus again. Not now, not ever. He refuses.

“Expecto Patronum,” he cries, and this time the silver mist hangs in the air for several seconds. The Dementor is forced to let go of Albus’s wrist, and it hisses as it withdraws its hand inside its cloak. But then the barrier flickers and fades, and Scorpius knows he needs to do better. This hell won’t end until he’s succeeded. For the first time in his life he has complete control of both his and Albus’s suffering. He can and will end it.

He adjusts his grip on his wand and points it right into the face of the Dementor hovering over Albus as he remembers the sunshine bright glow of joy he’d felt when Albus had kissed him outside the coffee shop just two days ago. “Expecto Patronum,” he yells. “Expecto Patronum. Expecto _Patronum_.”

A huge, silvery something erupts from the end of his wand and flies straight at the Dementor. Nothing could stand firm in the face of those enormous, flapping wings, and the radiant light coming from the Patronus. The Dementor turns and flees, leaving Albus slumped on the ground, and the Patronus wheels around in midair and soars over Scorpius’s head at the second Dementor. This one doesn’t hang around either, it turns and glides into the night, the Patronus flying in hot pursuit.

There’s a long moment in which Albus and Scorpius are alone on the towpath, in the darkness, which feels even more impenetrable without the silver light of the Patronus, the rain beating down on them and the night still shrouded in mist and utterly silent. Then, slowly, the fog begins to roll back, the icy rain turns into a light, warm summer shower, and the clouds part until moonlight shines down, dappling the ground with pools of pale light. The ice thaws, and warmth returns to the world, enough that Scorpius’s clothes start to gently steam. Crickets chirp in the grass and an owl hoots in the distance. Calm and normalcy are restored, and Scorpius exhales a shaky breath of relief.

“I-I did it. I actually- I _did it_.” He lets out a slightly hysterical little laugh and claps his shaking hands to his mouth. “Albus, can you-“ He breaks off as he realises that Albus is still lying on the towpath, very still and very pale, and ice freezes his heart again in an instant.

“Albus,” he says urgently, throwing himself onto the ground next to him. “Albus, can you hear me? Are you okay?” He reaches out and shakes Albus’s shoulder, wanting to see any sign of movement from him.

Albus gives a quiet groan and shakes his head an inch from side to side.

Scorpius swallows. “O-okay. Do you know where we are? Do you know who I am? What hurts?”

“It’s so cold,” Albus whispers. “I’ve never been so cold.”

“I know,” Scorpius says. “I know. Alright.” He looks around desperately, but the towpath is deserted. There’s no one to help. They’re near enough to Albus’s house though. They could Apparate, or even walk. Scorpius isn’t sure he trusts himself to Apparate right now. “I’m going to take you home,” he tells Albus. “I’m going to take you home and find you some chocolate, and we’ll warm you up. I promise. In the meantime...” He casts a Warming Charm over Albus, then conjures a cloak to wrap round his shoulders. “This should help. I hope this helps.” He loops an arm round Albus and rubs his back. “Can you stand?”

Albus leans against him, sitting up an inch, and he looks at Scorpius. “You’re wonderful,” he murmurs. “You saved us.”

Scorpius’s heart thaws as relief floods him. At least Albus knows who he is and what’s just happened. That’s good. Everything else they can cure.

He presses a kiss to Albus’s cheek and kneels up, supporting Albus to stand up. “Sshh, you can thank me later once you’re warm.”

“This is better,” Albus says, swaying and slumping against Scorpius’s side, hugging the cloak tight round his shoulders. “This is a lot better.”

“Good,” Scorpius says. He looks around, wondering where his Patronus has gone. He doesn’t know if he can cast it again, but he misses it. He misses its warmth, the way it shines like a beacon of hope in the darkness. He also has no idea how to get to Albus’s house from here, but he suspects that it might be able to help guide him. He hopes it will.

Right on cue, silvery light appears in the distance and comes soaring along the towpath. Scorpius had expected the Patronus to look smaller now the Dementors have gone but it doesn’t. It’s still enormous, and maybe that’s just how it is.

It lands on the path in front of him and looks at him, head on one side. Scorpius thinks it looks a bit like a seagull, and he really hopes his Patronus isn’t a seagull because that sounds so unimpressive. But whatever it is, seagull or not, he’s eternally grateful to it, especially when Albus reaches towards it and rubs his hands together, warming them.

“We need to go to Albus’s,” Scorpius says. “Do you know how to get there?”

The bird gives a soft, throaty cry and spreads its wings, lifting off the ground and beginning to fly down the towpath in the direction they were heading before the Dementors arrived. Scorpius holds tight to Albus’s waist and follows it, grateful to be heading for home.


	6. Burn

_Scorpius nervously nudges the office door open with his shoulder and pauses on the threshold. The room is deserted, and Scorpius isn’t sure whether he’s allowed to go inside. There’s no one stopping him, but the last thing he needs is to get arrested for trespassing, or kicked out of the Ministry for his lack of propriety. He doesn’t want to get on Harry’s bad side. However, the owl that had arrived for his dad earlier that morning, summoning him to Harry’s office for an urgent meeting, had said to wait in the room._

_He slips inside, closing the door behind him, and stands in front of the desk, hands clasped together. From his position he can see all the mess on Harry’s desk: a stack of confidential files that look like they’re untouched, a big map of Britain that’s colour coordinated by search team, photos of wanted witches and wizards leering across from the filing cabinet, next to one single photo of a pale, miserable looking Albus. Scorpius turns his back on it and takes a deep breath to try and steady himself. He’s anxious enough without that sort of emotion added to the mix, and he still doesn’t know why he’s here. Harry could be about to arrest him for Albus’s murder for all he knows._

_The door clicks behind him and he jumps violently_ _and spins around to see Harry entering the room looking dishevelled. A couple of strands of his hair are standing right on end, and the rest is windswept and messy. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, but one is coming unravelled and has slipped down to his forearm, showing that his cuffs are unbuttoned. His tie is askew, and his glasses have a big droplet of something that looks like coffee on them. Harry removes them and starts cleaning them on a handkerchief._

_“Scorpius,” he says, sounding far more surprised to see him than someone who’d asked to meet him here ought to. “Is it that time already?” He glances at his watch. “Yes, it is. Sorry, I was in a vampire meeting.”_

_Scorpius licks his lips. His mouth has gone all dry and he doesn’t know if he can speak right now, but he has to try and at least make polite conversation. “What’s a vampire meeting?” He asks, because it’s the first question that pops into his head._

_Harry shakes his head and shoves his now slightly cleaner glasses back onto his face. “Just a regular catchup with Hermione and their community leaders. They’re trying to demand access to blood banks again, which is all very well, but free access is just...” He grumbles under his breath as he rakes his fingers through his hair and moves behind the desk where he slumps into his seat. “Anyway, enough about that. You’re here.”_

_“I-I would appear to be,” Scorpius says, glancing around the office. “Um... why am I here? You’re not going to arrest me or something are you?”_

_Harry frowns at him. “Why would I arrest you? You haven’t done anything illegal, have you?”_

_Scorpius shakes his head. “No, of course not. But everyone thinks I have, and I thought that maybe... you might think I had too...” He trails off, looking down at his hands._

_“Oh,” Harry says. He leans forward and shuffled some papers around on his desk, moving them into neater piles. “No, I don’t think you’ve done anything illegal. I, um. I actually called you here because I’d like to offer you a job. I suppose your dad didn’t pass that part on...”_

_Scorpius stares at Harry in pure, stunned amazement. “You... you want me to be an Auror? But I-“ Realisation dawns on him and his heart sinks. “No, you want me to look for Albus, don’t you? I don’t know where he is, Harry. I promise. I don’t know anything you don’t already-“_

_“No.” Harry holds a hand up to stop him. “No, I don’t want either of those things. No. It really is just the job.” He searches through the files on his desk and pulls out a thin, worn one of an indiscriminate, slightly dirty beige colour, which he flips open. “We’ve just had an opening down in MIND, the Minor Illegal Nuisances Department, an entry level position, and, well. Your dad mentioned to me that you were looking for a job... I thought it might suit.” He looks down at the file and pulls out a sheet of parchment. “I can’t lie, it’s not the most exciting job in the department, but the pay is decent, it’s a foot in the door, and there are opportunities for promotion. You know. Hogwarts graduate level stuff.” He looks up at Scorpius and gives a half hopeful, half desperate grin as he holds the parchment out to him._

_Scorpius steps forward and reaches out for it, still reeling from the shock of Harry Potter summoning him to the Ministry to offer him a job. In person._

_He takes hold of the parchment and reads it over, his trembling hands making it difficult to read the words. It details the job – legal training given, some casework, office admin, a good first step for a career in law or politics, opportunities for promotion, at least three Es at N.E.W.T. required. It’s not a dream job, it’s not even an ideal job, but it is a job, and if there are opportunities for moving up through the Ministry then it’s a start. It only has to be temporary, Scorpius reminds himself, until he proves his worth and starts to build his career. It’s the best he’s going to get._

_“I’ll take it,” he says, holding out the parchment to Harry. “Thank you. I accept. O-or does it not work like that? Do I still need to apply? Interview? Whatever you want.”_

_Harry gets to his feet and shakes his head. “No, none of that. I know you, I know you’re competent, and we haven’t had the most extensive pool of... No, it’s yours if you want it.”_

_Scorpius nods. “I do. Definitely.”_

_Harry beams at him and claps his hands together. “Great! Well. Welcome to the Ministry of Magic.”_

“Is this really the only chocolate you have?” Scorpius asks. He’s got his head stuck in one of Albus’s cupboards and is rummaging through it, while Albus sits on the kitchen table behind him, wrapped in a blanket, watching.

“I’m an athlete,” Albus says. “I don’t normally eat chocolate.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “I’m appalled.” He spots a large bar of Honeydukes regular milk chocolate that looks decent enough even if it’s not very exciting, and he hands it over to Albus. “Here, eat this.”

“All of it?” Albus asks, eyeing it.

Scorpius nods and gives him a hard look. “All of it. It’s remedial. And you really need it.”

Albus must hear the concerned softening of his tone, because he sighs and unwraps the chocolate then takes a big, demonstrative bite to show Scorpius he’s behaving. Meanwhile Scorpius finds a chocolate and marshmallow bar that’s by far the most interesting thing in the cupboard and starts eating that. The effect is instantaneous and glorious.

Warmth spreads through his whole body, he stops shivering altogether, and his mind starts to clear. He’d been so focused on making sure Albus was alright that he hadn’t noticed how miserable he’d been feeling. It was like even after the Dementors had gone, their fog kept looming over him, making the whole world feel murkier. But now that fog is clearing, the sun is coming out, and he can sense hope on the horizon.

“Oh,” Albus murmurs behind him, and Scorpius glances round at him. “That really does feel better. That feels amazing. Maybe I need to get more chocolate...”

“If you plan on keeping me around then I highly recommend it,” Scorpius says. He peels the rest of the wrapping off his chocolate bar and eats the rest of it in one bite, closing his eyes and leaning against the worktop as the tips of his fingers and toes thaw out and a smile spreads across his face.

“I do,” Albus says, snapping off a couple more squares of his chocolate and tossing them into his mouth. “So if you have any recommendations or requests let me know.”

Scorpius throws his wrapper in the bin and beams at Albus. “I’ll make you a list.”

“I have no doubt you will.” Albus takes one more square of chocolate, then holds the rest out to Scorpius. “Do you want this? I can’t eat anymore.”

“You only had a couple of squares,” Scorpius says. “You really should eat it all, Albus. It’ll help.”

Albus sighs and snaps off one more row from the chocolate bar, then he leaves it on the kitchen table and hops down. “I think I’m going to go and get changed. I’m still all wet. You should too. You must be freezing.”

“I don’t have anything to change into,” Scorpius says, picking at his sodden trousers. “These are ruined.”

“We can dry them,” Albus suggests. “It won’t take long. And in the meantime you can borrow some of my pyjamas.”

Scorpius looks at him and realises that he can’t imagine being apart from him now. After everything that’s happened this evening, he doesn’t want to go home, even though he really should. There’s nothing he wants more than to curl up in a warm, dry pair of Albus’s pyjamas and stay the night, knowing that Albus is sleeping somewhere safe nearby.

“I- Okay.” He twists his hands together. “Do you reckon I could take a shower? Would that be okay?”

Albus shrugs. “Sure, go for it. The bathroom’s on the second floor. There’s a cupboard on the landing with towels and things. If you throw your clothes outside the door I’ll dry them for you – I promise I‘ll do my best not to accidentally set fire to them – and I’ll leave some pyjamas.”

“Is you setting fire to my clothes something that’s likely to happen?” Scorpius asks, shooting him a little smile.

“Stranger things have happened when I try to do magic. If you don’t trust me you can do it yourself, but... You look exhausted. And you basically battled those things single-handedly.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “Not single-handedly. You helped. And you look exhausted too. We both need a good night’s sleep.”

“Definitely,” Albus agrees.

If Scorpius thought the chocolate helped dispel the all-consuming cold of the Dementors, the shower is even better. Chocolate can heal the soul, but it doesn’t unfreeze extremities; you need hot water for that.

The water beats down on Scorpius’s head, turning his skin red because it’s so hot, but he doesn’t turn it down. Being drenched in near-scalding water is comforting, and once he’s used to it he knows that if he turned the water down he’d be too cold.

He bows his head and rubs his fingers together, drawing in a deep breath. When he closes his eyes he can see once again the dark towpath and towering hooded figures. He can see a scaly hand clenched around Albus’s wrist. He can hear rattling breath in his ears, and for a second he can’t breathe.

In a panic he stumbles out from under the water and opens his eyes, needing to see the bathroom and know that it’s safe. He scrubs the water away and stares wildly around. He’s alone in the brightly lit room, surrounded by clean white and jet black tiles. The mirror is too fogged up from steam for him to see anything in it, but there are no shadows in here, nowhere to hide, so he knows he’s not missing anything.

He rests a hand against the slippery tiles and takes several long, slow breaths before he ducks back under the jet of water and starts washing his hair as fast as he can. More than anything right now, he wants to go and check that Albus is okay. That’s what he needs. And that’s why he can’t possibly go home tonight. That distance from Albus is unthinkable right now. Scorpius knows himself, he knows how his fears percolate into his dreams. When Dementors invade his sleep tonight, he’s going to need to be able to see for himself that Albus is okay.

He rinses his hair through, blinks the last of the soap suds from his eyes, then switches off the water. Even on a hot night like this one, he still shivers as he steps out onto the cool tiles on the floor. The window is open and a sharp evening breeze blows through the room. Goosebumps rise on Scorpius’s arms and he shivers and wraps a towel round himself.

Albus should have left pyjamas outside for him now. The idea of wrapping himself up in a warm, dry pair of pyjamas is idyllic, so he crosses to the door and pokes his head out onto the landing. There’s an empty space outside of the door where his wet clothes used to be, but there are no pyjamas out there. The hallway is utterly deserted and the house is still.

“Albus?” Scorpius calls. There’s no response and no movement. “Albus?” He repeats a little louder, but there’s still nothing.

Scorpius wraps the towel more securely around himself and sets off down the hall, since there’s no other option. His feet sink into the soft piles of Albus’s carpet, and the chill night air prickles his skin. His heart thumps hard in his chest, with fear because Albus is far too quiet, but also with the anxious thrill of wandering half naked around Albus’s house. It’s not as if Albus has never seen him getting changed or getting out of the shower before – they shared a dorm for years at school – but that was a very long time ago, and things are different now. Things are very different.

But that’s all secondary right now, secondary to the fact that on this night of all nights Albus has gone very quiet, and the house feels deserted. After everything that’s happened this evening it makes Scorpius feel jumpy and nervous. He needs to find Albus and make sure he’s okay, then he can think about everything else he’s feeling.

The door to Albus’s room is ajar when Scorpius reaches it. There’s a lamp glowing inside, casting a flickering pool of golden candlelight across the slither of room that Scorpius can see, and the window is open. The curtain billows in the breeze. Everything is still.

Scorpius nudges the door further open with his toe. “Albus?” He slips into the room and sees that Albus is there. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, shivering and staring down at his hands. He seems utterly oblivious to the fact that Scorpius is standing in the doorway.

“Albus,” Scorpius murmurs, closing the door softly behind him and rounding the end of the bed to sit beside Albus. He reaches out a hand and lays it on Albus’s back. “A-are you okay?”

Albus startles at the sudden contact. He jumps and flinches away, his head flying up. There’s a wildness in his eyes when he looks at Scorpius, and for a second Scorpius thinks that Albus might not recognise him, but then Albus blinks and exhales.

“It’s you. It’s-“ He runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I was thinking, I- Shit, I didn’t get you any clothes, or-“

“It’s fine,” Scorpius says, running a hand down his arm. “I promise. Are you okay? You looked a bit...”

Albus exhales and nods. “I think I’m fine.”

“You think?” Scorpius asks, squeezing his hand.

Albus stares down at his knees. “The Dementors got in my head,” he mutters. “A little bit. I-I can’t stop thinking; remembering... I want to stop.” He buries his face in his hands, and Scorpius rubs a hand down his back.

“You should have eaten more of the chocolate,” he says. “Do you want me to go and-“

“No, don’t go.” Albus lifts his head and catches hold of Scorpius’s hand again, lacing their fingers together. “Stay here and... I don’t know. Distract me. Somehow.”

Scorpius smiles. “That’s a dangerous request.”

Albus squeezes his hand. “Better than the alternative.”

Scorpius kisses the back of his hand and looks at him – really looks at him – for the first time since he walked into the room. Albus has changed so much over the years, that much is obvious, but seeing him exposed like this only highlights the changes. His body has filled out; he _looks_ like an athlete, all lean muscle, compact power, not an ounce of excess anywhere on him. The harsh crop of his hair shows off the sharpness of his jaw, which leads to a strong neck, broad shoulders, and then down to...

“Since when have you had tattoos?” Scorpius asks, skimming a hand down Albus’s arm and staring. “You didn’t tell me about these.”

“It didn’t really come up,” Albus says, glancing down. “Are they a problem? Don’t tell me the tattoos are a dealbreaker. Running away, breaking your heart, nearly getting you killed by Dementors, all fine. Tattoos, no.”

Scorpius smiles. “Not a dealbreaker, don’t worry. They’re beautiful. What do they mean?”

“The wings on my shoulder,” Albus says, pointing to his left shoulder blade, “they’re sort of a Delphi thing. They’re a representation of a saying – the future is mine to make. The spirals don’t mean much. They’re just there to cover up... You know. Stuff.”

Scorpius traces a finger along one of the spirals, and as he does he feels how pockmarked Albus’s skin is, soft in places, rutted in others, and when Scorpius peers closer he sees that Albus’s arm is scarred beneath the intricate tattoos. And now that he’s seen them, he realises they’re everywhere. The damaged skin runs from his left shoulder, down past his elbow, and finally stops around his forearm, where the tattoo spirals into a tail and disappears. There’s more scarring on the right arm too, only to the middle of Albus’s upper arm, but it’s still there, and it still looks bad.

“Stuff,” Scorpius breathes. “Albus, this is worse than stuff. This is really- how did this happen?”

“It’s not exactly uncommon to get injured in my line of work,” Albus says, twisting his arm away. “And you sound like my mum.”

“Sorry,” Scorpius murmurs. “But really, Albus... How did these ones happen?”

Albus looks at him and sighs. “The one on my right arm was actually the first injury I got. Sometimes we use fireballs to make the races more interesting, and I didn’t dodge quickly enough. It looks bad but it doesn’t cause me too many problems. The other one...” He closes a hand round the top of his left arm and rests his chin on his shoulder. “Someone pushed me going round a corner. I still don’t remember who it was, it was a big mass start elimination race so it was carnage. Anyway, I... I lost control of my broom and span straight into the Fiendfyre cage. Delphi tells me I fell about fifty feet out of the air with my shoulder on fire, but I passed out, and I’ve never managed to remember any of what happened. All I know is that I woke up a week later in agony and we’ve slowly been working on it since. That was two and a half years ago.”

“Can I-“ Scorpius reaches out and brushes the tips of his fingers down Albus’s left arm, trying to feel all the history there, everything he’s been through. This is just another of the things he’s missed. “It doesn’t hurt when I touch it, does it?”

Albus shakes his head and watches the progress of Scorpius’s fingers. “No. It feels quite nice actually. Soothing. I, um... I don’t normally let people touch them. But I think you count as a special case.”

Scorpius smiles and strokes the length of the spiralling tattoo that hides the scars. “Sometimes it pays to be a special case.”

Albus draws in a long, shuddering breath, and nods. “Sometimes it does.” He brushes his fingertips along Scorpius’s jaw. “Can I kiss you now?”

“Be my guest.”

The kiss is deeper and more intense than Scorpius had been ready for. It feels like Albus is trying to taste every inch of his lips and tongue, but that makes sense, because Scorpius is trying to touch every inch of Albus’s arm. Soft, loving strokes of fingers and tongue meld together in Scorpius’s brain, until he doesn’t know where he ends and Albus begins, and he has to pull back to regain his coherency.

“Okay,” he says, letting go of Albus’s arm and touching the bare skin of his side instead. “Okay, you never have to ask if you can kiss me ever again, because of _course_ you can. Always. As long as you kiss like that.”

Albus smiles and rests his forehead on Scorpius’s shoulder. “Noted.” He traces his hand round the top of Scorpius’s towel. “I never got you your pyjamas, did I?”

Scorpius shakes his head. “No. But I don’t think I care right now. I like this.” He gestures between the two of them.

“I like this too,” Albus says. He runs the palm of his hand over Scorpius’s ribs and stomach, and Scorpius inhales sharply, an instinctive reaction to the touch. “I like this a lot.”

“I don’t want to be wearing this,” Scorpius says, tugging at the towel round his waist. “Do I?”

Albus’s smile grows wider, and his eyes sparkle. “I don’t know, maybe you don’t. You’d have to tell me that. Personally, I know I don’t want to be wearing these.” He plucks at the elastic on his boxers, so it snaps against his hip.

The idea of being entirely naked with this beautiful, older, athletic version of Albus – a version of Albus who fought Dementors with him earlier and said sorry and talked about love – makes Scorpius’s stomach swoop. It sounds like bliss, and now it’s something that Scorpius has in his power to make happen he finds that he’ll do anything for it.

“You definitely don’t need those,” Scorpius says, and his voice already sounds scratchy and raw with want. He fumbles with the knot on his towel and casts it aside, not caring where it ends up; he just wants it gone. He can deal with tidying up later.

Albus swallows and stares at him, and there’s something about that gaze, the hungry way Albus is drinking him in, that makes Scorpius feel momentarily very self-conscious and then utterly untouchable. Albus wants him. He can see that. Albus Severus Potter, star broom racer, runaway, who could have anyone in the world, wants him, failure, disappointment, and general disaster Scorpius Malfoy. Elation surges through Scorpius’s body, and he can’t stand another second not touching Albus.

He surges across the space between them, cups Albus’s face in both his hands, and kisses him hard. He’s up on his knees, so Albus has to stretch and crane to reach him, but Albus doesn’t seem to care. There’s an unrelenting desperation to those kisses. Albus runs his fingers through Scorpius’s hair and pulls him closer, the pressure mounting every second. It doesn’t seem as though Albus can get close enough to Scorpius, like he won’t be satisfied until they become one being, skin too much of a barrier to bear, and Scorpius can fully understand that feeling.

“The pants,” Scorpius gasps during one of the seconds they’re apart. “Get them off. Now. _Please_.” He has no idea how he got to the point where he can beg for Albus to be naked, but that’s where he is now, and Albus complies. He wriggles his way out of the boxers, his hard cock springing free, and he kicks them out of the way so he can get back to the business of running his hands over every inch of Scorpius’s body.

Scorpius presses his forehead against Albus’s and grips his shoulders. Their bodies are just far enough apart that he can look down and take in the sight of Albus’s gloriously naked body, just inches from his own. He can see every ripple of muscle, every bead of sweat, every bruise and burn and scar. It’s all laid out for him in perfect detail, and Scorpius can’t believe his luck. If this is how the world is making up for all the hardship and misery he’s battled through in the last few years then everything is forgiven, because this has been so worth the wait.

“You’re not kissing me,” Albus murmurs, opening his eyes and looking at Scorpius. “Please kiss me.”

“I want to fuck you,” Scorpius says.

For a moment he can’t quite tell if the words actually came out of his mouth or if he just thought them. Sometimes the truth has a habit of staying locked away inside him, and at other times he can’t keep his mouth shut. Even though this is a truth that he desperately wants Albus to know, there’s another part of him that’s screaming at him to stop, to not say such stupid things out loud, that it’s too early to say things like that. But then Albus’s fingers tighten on his wrists, and he’s nodding, and his gaze is darker and more desperate than ever.

“Yes,” Albus agrees. “That. Yes. I want that. I-I want you to- I want you.”

“Yes?” Scorpius asks, running his hands over Albus’s hips. He has to double check. When his brain is running this fast, and his whole body is alive with this bizarre simultaneous wash of numbness and heightened sensation, he has to make sure that he’s definitely heard what he thinks he’s heard.

“Fuck, Scorpius. Yes.” Albus kisses him again, hot and hard, open-mouthed and messy. He runs his fingernails lightly over Scorpius’s skin, a scraping sensation that makes every inch of Scorpius tingle and quake. Then Scorpius feels Albus’s fingertips brushing his balls, and next second Albus’s hand is wrapped in a firm fist around his cock, and his brain short circuits.

“O-oh, Albus. Oh. M-Merlin. Albus. _Albus_.” He clings to Albus for dear life, gripping his arms, trying to remember how to breathe and think and speak, but it’s impossible because now Albus is stroking him, and the only thing in the world is Albus, fingers, cock.

He rocks his hips towards Albus’s hand instinctively, wanting more, even though he doesn’t know if he’s capable of feeling more than he already is. Albus’s ass is firm when he slides his hands down and grips it, and Albus gives a soft sigh of contentment.

“Do you really want to fuck me?” He asks, and his voice sounds hoarse.

Scorpius presses his fingers into skin and muscle, brushing his fingertips into Albus’s crack, and he nods. “Y-yeah, I do. I really... really do.”

Albus pauses in his stroking and relaxes his grip. For the first time, Scorpius realises that for all his confidence and skill, he’s shaking.

“I’ve never let anyone...”

“I don’t have to,” Scorpius says, moving his hands away, to Albus’s lower back instead.

Albus shakes his head and looks at Scorpius, and his eyes aren’t full of need anymore. They’re still desperate, but the overriding expression now is soft and a little bit vulnerable. “No, I, um... I-I wanted you to- That’s why I never... I hoped, dreamed that one day you might... And here you are, and you want to-“ Albus licks his lips, making them slick and bringing out their bruised colour. “I want you to fuck me, Scorpius. That’s what I want.”

Scorpius strokes his fingers down the curve of Albus’s back, exploring the join where back becomes ass, where vertebrae give way to muscle, where convex and concave meet. “I’ve never done this either,” he admits. “I’ve never really done anything. You’ll have to tell me how to do this.”

Albus kisses him very softly, and Scorpius wraps his arms round him, holding him tight.

“I’ll show you,” Albus murmurs.

Scorpius buries his face in Albus’s shoulder for a moment, breathing in his scent and enjoying the softness of the hollow above his clavicle, then he lifts his head and nods. “Go on.”

Albus starts talking him through the process. Scorpius can’t help but think how much of a strange opposite it is for them. Usually Scorpius is the teacher, the one who knows exactly what he’s doing and is explaining it to Albus, but now it’s Albus who’s the confident one. He knows the right spells, the right techniques. He’s patient, and thorough, and Scorpius finds that it’s soothing to obey his every instruction. His senses feel a little less on fire, which he’s grateful for, because he gets the feeling that if he’d gone into this as het up as he was then it wouldn’t have lasted long.

“I think I’m ready for another finger,” Albus murmurs. His eyes are closed, and his body is taut. Scorpius carefully presses a third finger in beside the other two and Albus clenches tight around him. Albus exhales in a long hiss, and slowly his body relaxes around Scorpius as he adjusts. “Okay,” he whispers. “Good. You can- Oh, Scorpius.” As Scorpius spreads his fingers slightly and moves them, Albus’s body rocks too, pressing himself further towards Scorpius. Albus always wants more, Scorpius has already discovered. Even if it aches, even if it stings and burns and stretches, he wants it, as much of it as he can get.

Scorpius trails his fingers the length of Albus’s cock and watches as Albus arches, face screwing up with pleasure. His mouth falls open, and he drops his head back, enjoying every bit of sensation, and Scorpius enjoys it with him. Even watching Albus is bliss enough in itself.

Finally, after several more slow, luxurious minutes of adjustment, Albus opens his eyes and looks up at Scorpius. “I think I’m ready for you. Go slow, but... I don’t want to wait anymore. I want you.”

“Are you sure?” Scorpius asks.

Albus nods. “Positive.” He reaches out and catches hold of Scorpius’s free hand, which is slick with lube and pre-come. Their fingers slide to interlock, and Albus gives his hand a squeeze.

Slowly, gently, Scorpius pulls his fingers out of Albus, watching Albus’s eyelids flutter as he does. When they’re out there’s a strange moment while Albus adjusts himself on the bed and spreads his legs wider when, for the first time in several long and delicious minutes, Scorpius isn’t inside Albus. He feels almost bereft of him, of the heat and tightness, of the squeeze and throb of muscles, of every tiny shift being escalated into an earthquake. He misses the intimacy of connection between them, but then he looks down at Albus and reminds himself that that’s about to be elevated a hundred fold.

“I’m ready,” Albus says with a nod, and Scorpius begins to position himself.

Being inside Albus, he quickly discovers, is almost too much to bear. There’s a moment when he feels Albus clench around him and he almost comes on the spot.

They take it as slowly as they can, fingers intertwined the whole time, murmuring to each other, sometimes laughing, sometimes concentrating too much to do anything other than close their eyes and breathe. But finally Scorpius is buried deep in Albus, Albus’s face has begun to relax after the initial pain, and they both open their eyes and look at each other.

“We’ll never be closer than this,” Scorpius says, giving Albus a little smile.

“Sap,” Albus replies, rolling his eyes, but he smiles too, and strokes his fingers over Scorpius’s cheek. “Come here and kiss me.”

Scorpius leans down and kisses him, soft and slow, and Albus moans with delight. It’s such a delicious sound, long and low, and Scorpius sucks on his lip, wanting it to keep going, wanting to learn how to make it keep going, and that makes Albus gasp. A shuddering intake of breath that runs through his whole body and vibrates through into Scorpius’s.

“Oh, Albus,” he murmurs. “I love you. I-I...”

Albus rocks his hips upwards. “Scorpius,” he breathes. “Come on. I want to- I need you.”

“Yes,” Scorpius replies, because he needs Albus too. He’s always needed him. And now they’re as close as they can ever get he needs him more than ever. He needs to show Albus all his love and devotion and want, so that maybe Albus will understand how much Scorpius needs him and he’ll never want to leave again.

Albus wraps his legs round Scorpius’s waist as they move together. The change of angle makes him throw his head back, mouth falling open, and he digs his heels into Scorpius’s back. Scorpius supports him by the hips, holding him up, holding him steady. They fall into a rhythm, push and pull, in and out, like the tide lapping on the shore, like the moon waxing and waning, like a minute hand sweeping round to meet the hour.

Even though they will never get back the years they spent apart, Scorpius can’t help but feel like every stroke is a small recovery, every roll of his hips heals something from the past, every time he gasps or Albus whispers his name they express some of what they should have been telling each other all along. Scorpius doesn’t feel like he’s just fucking Albus, he feels like he’s anchoring him, and the way Albus grips him ever more tightly, pulling him closer and closer, clutching at him with sheer desperation tells him that this is how Albus wants to feel. He wants to know that he’s welcome to stay, and he is. He’s so welcome, in Scorpius’s life, in his heart, in his bed.

“I’m staying,” Albus says. “I’m staying, Scorpius. I’m staying, I’m staying, I’m staying.” It’s like a mantra, spilling out of him in an incessant babble, and Scorpius doesn’t know how to reply so he simply closes one hand tight around Albus’s cock and strokes him, not expertly by any means: the timing is all off and he has to keep stopping and starting because the most important thing is slamming himself repeatedly into Albus, harder and harder, deeper and deeper, meeting Albus’s demands for more and more and more.

He can feel himself coiling up inside, the pressure mounting, and he needs a release, he‘s desperate for it. He opens his eyes and looks down at Albus, whose eyes are also wide open, staring at nothing, but aflame with ecstasy as he keeps saying over and over again, at higher pitch and ever louder “I’m staying, I’m staying, I’m staying”. And as he looks into Albus’s eyes he realises that the brown is melting out of them. The potion he uses to change their colour is wearing off, and they’re turning back to emerald again. Scorpius’s favourite colour. The colour of Slytherin, of home, of Albus.

“A-Albus,” he gasps, “your eyes, they-“

And maybe Albus hears him, or maybe he doesn’t, but he lifts his head a fraction of an inch and looks deep into Scorpius’s eyes. “I’m staying.”

There’s nothing in Scorpius’s world beyond emerald fire and the burning heat of Albus’s body clenching around him, and he comes, every fibre of his being releasing in one sudden, visceral rush of light and life and joy.

He clings to Albus to avoid being lost in a sea of utter bliss. There’s nothing else he can do but hold on and never let go. He can feel Albus’s body contracting and releasing around him, and hot, thick spurts of come splattering on his stomach and chest, but that’s just another element in this sudden, overwhelming wave of _everything_.

When he finally begins to comprehend once again who he is and where he is, he realises that he’s collapsed on top of Albus in a heap. He also realises that Albus is still squeezing around his painfully sensitive cock. With a groan he pulls out and rolls over onto his back, sprawling in an exhausted heap as he stares up at the bedroom ceiling and slowly realises that he’s just had the most phenomenal sex with Albus Severus Potter.

“Scorpius,” Albus groans next to him.

“Albus,” Scorpius says, patting around for his hand.

“Don’t go.”

Scorpius finds his hand, which is sticky with come and sweat and lube, and squeezes it tight. “I love you,” he says.

Albus draws in a long, slow breath, then exhales and brushes his thumb over the back of his hand. “I love you too,” he replies.

Albus can’t remember the last time he felt this content. His whole body aches, but in the same satisfying way that it does after a really good training session. His limbs are heavy and lethargic, and whenever he glances sideways he sees the beautiful sight of Scorpius lying beside him, all long, bare limbs, slim, bony and angular, blond hair a messy halo around his head, lips bruised from kissing, his chest rising and falling with every slow, contented breath, eyelids flickering open and closed. He looks utterly wrecked, but in the best possible way.

“Are you okay?” Albus whispers, reaching over and brushing a strand of hair off his face.

“You’ve worn me out,” Scorpius mumbles. “I’m too old for this.”

Albus snorts. “You mean you’re not ready to go again already? I’m disappointed.”

Scorpius groans. “I’m ready to go to sleep, Albus.”

Albus leans down and brushes a kiss on his cheek, then another, then one on his jaw, and one last one on his bruised lips. Scorpius gives a soft whimper and his lips part. He lifts a hand and strokes it down Albus’s cheek, and Albus grazes his tongue over Scorpius’s lower lip. It’s a soft, languorous kiss that lingers between them. Even when they aren’t touching anymore they remain just a fraction of an inch apart, eyes closed, mouths open, savouring the taste and touch.

“I meant it,” Albus murmurs finally, opening his eyes. He discovers that Scorpius is already gazing at him, and when their eyes meet, Scorpius, brushes his fingers round the corners of Albus’s eyes.

“Please don’t Transfigure them again,” Scorpius whispers. “They’re so perfect as they are.”

Albus blinks in surprise, sidetracked by the sudden interjection. “My eyes? But they’re so much like my-“

“They’re yours,” Scorpius interrupts. “Every bit of them. They burn. They have your fire, your energy, your spark. I know they’re the same colour as... But they’re you. Your look. Your- your soul.”

Albus bows his head. “I-I’ll think about it,” he whispers. “I will. Um, but what I was trying to say. I-I meant it when I said I’m staying. It’s only been a few days, but I already feel happier and more at home than I have in a long time. I don’t want to lose this. So I promise you, Scorpius, I promise you that I’m staying, with my parents, with you as long as you’ll have me. No more running away. This is it now.”

“I know,” Scorpius says, running a gentle hand down Albus’s left arm and making him shiver. “I think the message was clearly received.” He smiles, and Albus’s cheeks heat up.

“Right. Of course. I-I suppose I wasn’t exactly subtle.”

Scorpius kisses his gently on the cheek. “I don’t think sex is the time for subtlety anyway. It’s quite... visceral, isn’t it?”

Albus grins. “A little bit. So how was it? Your first time?”

Scorpius rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that question. You’re just fishing for compliments, aren’t you?” He tickles Albus’s side, and Albus squirms and sits up.

“I would never do such a thing.”

“Oh yeah right.” Scorpius sits up and pokes him in the chest. “You ruined me, Albus Potter, and you know it, so stop pretending otherwise.”

He stumbles to his feet, and Albus leans back on his hands, watching him and grinning. The sight of a still gloriously naked Scorpius wandering round his bedroom is a dream, and Albus fully intends to enjoy it.

“I’m going to shower,” Scorpius says. “Want to come?” He holds a hand out to Albus who takes it and gets gingerly to his feet.

“Go slow,” he says. “I’m a little bit sore.”

Scorpius kisses the back of his hand. “I can only apologise.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Albus replies. “Absolutely nothing. You just gave me the best sex of my life.”

Scorpius blinks at him. “Did I? But I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Albus smirks. “It must be natural talent then. Come on, I’m in pain, you’ll need to help me wash.”

It’s so warm and comfortable being curled up in bed with Scorpius. Scorpius isn’t exactly the most restful sleeper, he tosses and turns and flails his limbs, but he’s Scorpius, and when he finally does drift off it’s with his arms wound tight round Albus’s waist and his face buried in the crook of Albus’s neck. After that it doesn’t take Albus long to drift off too.

As he sleeps he dreams. His mind is full of Scorpius, Scorpius’s mouth and hands and cock. His body burns with the pleasure of Scorpius inside him, moving and pressing, a relentless pulse of more more more. He clings to Scorpius as tight as he can, but it doesn’t seem to be tight enough, because suddenly he realises that Scorpius has turned to smoke and vanished, and he’s clutching at nothing.

The burning in his body is no longer pleasure, it’s ice cold. Every part of him is freezing. He can hear rattling breaths in his ear, and a scaly hand grips his wrist. Putrid, rotting scent floods his nostrils and the world goes dark and foggy. He doesn’t know who he is or where he is, he only knows the awful past.

Someone is shouting at him, his dad is shouting at him, yelling in his face, telling him he’s a disappointment, that he doesn’t fit, that if he hates his life this much then maybe he shouldn’t bother coming home.

Albus can’t breathe. He’s running, flying, aching. He can’t tell if it’s misery causing this pain or if he’s really hurt. Every fibre of his being screams at him and he can’t move. In the darkness he goes rigid as pain consumes him. He can’t move forward or backwards. He’s trapped, and no one, not even Delphi will find him here because he’s nowhere. He’s nothing.

By some miracle he discovers that he can still move his head. He lifts his chin and stares up, realising that there are stars overhead. The sky burns red with fire and floodlights, but there are silver stars and a thin sliver of the moon. And if he can see the sky then maybe he’s not nowhere. Maybe he’s somewhere. Maybe he can be found, maybe-

Fire erupts out of nowhere. He finds that he’s spiralling out of control all of a sudden, spinning, tumbling, and then pain explodes through his whole body. The burning isn’t pleasure or ice, it’s fire. Real fire. Fiendfyre. It licks across his skin, biting, consuming, stinging. The faces of beasts leer at him as they eat through clothes and flesh and muscle.

His stomach drops and he realises he’s falling. He doesn’t know which way is up. He doesn’t know where the ground is, how far it is from him. He’s dropping into nothingness, and his body is going up in smoke and flame and ash as he falls. A scream tears from his throat as he hits the ground and wakes.

He expects the pain to stop when the dream does. It’s so dark that for a second he’s not sure if he is awake. He’s still screaming, clutching at his shoulder which still feels like it’s on fire, and he’s writhing around, but there’s a soft bed beneath him instead of grass, and no night sky, and he’s not alone.

Bright white light blazes through the darkness, and Scorpius is there, stroking his hair.

“Albus,” he says, voice shaking with concern and urgency. “Albus, what’s wrong? You were screaming. Is it a nightmare? Are you hurt? Are you-“

“Sh-shoulder,” Albus gasps, rolling onto his back and screwing himself up as tight as he can, digging his fingernails into his arm to try and relieve the current agony with a different kind of pain, self-inflicted, one he can contain. His skin is red hot under his palm, and he realises that he hasn’t put anything on the burn since he saw his mum almost two days ago. He’s neglected it because it felt okay, and now he’s paying the price.

“I-I need the burn stuff. The salve, potion, thing, whatever it is.”

Scorpius swallows. “That’s not very descriptive, Albus. What am I looking for?”

“It’s a little bottle,” Albus shouts, panic and pain boiling over into anger. It hasn’t been this bad in a long time. The pain is excruciating, overwhelming. If it gets any worse he doesn’t know how he’ll cope, and it is getting worse. “Bathroom,” he says, trying to control himself, trying to breathe. “Bathroom cupboard. Little brown bottle. Scorpius, please. I-I need... I can’t do this much longer. I-“ He rolls over onto his front and buries his face into his pillow, letting out another scream because it’s the only way to relieve the agony coursing through him.

“Alright,” Scorpius says. “Alright. I-“ He swallows. “I’ll be back in a second. Hold on sweetheart. Hold on.” A whisper of a kiss drops into Albus’s hair, and Albus squeezes his eyes tight shut as tears start to leak down his face.

He can hold on. He can. He has to. Scorpius will only be a second.

The moments drag on. The pain blossoms and swells, like a fire catching hold and spreading in a forest. Albus is dry tinder on a summer day, flammable, nothing but fuel for the hungry flames. There’s nothing he can do to stop it. There’s no fighting this. There’s only beating it back, keeping it at bay to prevent it burning him to the ground.

“Albus!”

There are running footsteps in the distance and the door bangs open. Albus drags himself upright and lifts his head.

Scorpius is rushing around the bed, the little brown glass bottle clutched in his hand. He looks pale and terrified, and he hovers, uncertain, like he doesn’t know whether to hand Albus the bottle or try and help.

“Here,” Albus says through gritted teeth. He holds his hand out and Scorpius gives him the bottle.

“Is there anything else I can-“

Albus shakes his head. He fumbles with the cap of the bottle and tosses it aside, pouring as much of the salve as he can onto his hand and starting to lather it onto his arm.

The effect is instantaneous relief. It feels as though he’s doused a fire with water. He can almost hear the hiss as the cream touches his skin, and the pain extinguishes to steam, hot embers, and ash. He snatches in desperate breaths and feverishly spreads the salve over every inch of his skin that he can reach, not caring about rubbing it in yet, just needing it to be on him, touching him, relieving him.

Finally, when his whole arm is coated he curls forward, hunching over, and braces his hands on his knees as he catches his breath.

“What was that?” Scorpius asks. He sounds shaken, and he’s staring at Albus with fear in his eyes, hovering his hands by Albus’s shoulder like he wants to touch him but is afraid he’ll cause more pain. “You started thrashing around in your sleep, and I thought you were having a nightmare, but then... Then you started screaming.”

Albus glances up at him. “Sometimes... Sometimes this happens. My arm- When I forget to take care of it, when it’s feeling alright... This isn’t rare.”

Scorpius swallows. “Albus, I may not be a Healer, but I know that this isn’t meant to happen.”

Albus bows his head. “No. I know.”

There’s silence for a long moment, a sort of suspended stillness as Scorpius looks at Albus and processes everything, and Albus wishes he didn’t come with the sort of baggage that would scare off any sensible person, that should scare off Scorpius.

“What do you do with your arm now?” Scorpius asks finally. “Do you leave the salve like that, or-“

“I have to rub it in for it to work properly,” Albus says. “It’ll take a while. When I put it on it helps straight away, but it only takes the edge off the pain. It doesn’t have any lasting effect.”

Scorpius nods. “Can I?” He asks, gesturing to Albus’s arm.

Albus frowns at him. He still doesn’t feel fully with it. Exhaustion, pain, and the fear after the dream are clogging his brain. He doesn’t understand the question. “Can you what?”

“Help,” Scorpius says. “With the arm. Can I-?” He wriggles his fingers, and Albus comprehends what he’s asking.

“Oh, you don’t have to. It’ll take a while, and you should be sleeping.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “No, I want to. If you’re okay with it.”

Albus considers. He doesn’t let anyone help him with this, not even Delphi, and she was the one who saved his life when he was injured. It’s not something he should need help with. This is his stupid injury, and he always dealt with it privately. Letting someone help him take care of himself feels like such a strange concept. But this is Scorpius. He wants Scorpius to help, desperately. He wants Scorpius in every bit of his life, even these awful, excruciating, secret parts. So maybe he needs to stop thinking, stop shielding himself, and just let Scorpius in.

“Okay,” he says before he can stop himself. “Go on.”

“You’re sure?” Scorpius asks.

Albus nods. “Certain.”

Scorpius leans over and presses a soft kiss on his cheek, then he sits on his heels and starts massaging the salve into Albus’s skin.

Scorpius’s touch now is just as firm but gentle as it had been when he was opening Albus up for sex earlier. Whether he’s confident in what he’s doing or not, he feels like he knows what he’s doing. There’s a quiet surety to his touch that’s intensely comforting. Albus trusts him implicitly, and he lets his eyes flutter closed as Scorpius works away at him.

“You really should go to St Mungo’s with this,” Scorpius says after several long minutes of silence. “You should get someone to look at it. They might have a more permanent solution than this.”

Albus opens his eyes and looks at Scorpius. “I can’t go to St Mungo’s. Sev doesn’t exist.”

“Albus Severus Potter exists,” Scorpius says, not looking up from where he’s carefully rubbing the salve into Albus’s bicep. “And you should have a future without all this pain.”

“But I’m on the run,” Albus murmurs. “I can’t go to St Mungo’s when I’m...”

Scorpius gaze flickers up to briefly meet his. “I thought you were staying?”

“I-I am,” Albus says. “I am. Of course I am. But I can’t-“ He takes a deep breath and clenches his fists. “My dad... I don’t know if I’m ready. I’m staying, but I don’t know if he... If I go to St Mungo’s they’ll call him, and...” He swallows and stares down at his knees. “I’m scared, Scorpius. I’m really scared.”

“What do you have to be scared of? You’re Sev, the most fearless and fearsome broom racer around.”

Scorpius is working on a new bit of skin now. He starts rubbing the cream round in little circles, and Albus watches, mesmerised by the delicate movements of Scorpius’s fingers.

“I’m not really Sev,” Albus says softly. “He’s who I want people to think I am, but... I’m still Albus. I’m still the kid who ran away because he didn’t know how to talk to his dad or pass his exams. Just because I’m older, doesn’t mean... Time doesn’t actually heal many things. It makes some things worse. Like the idea of seeing my dad again... That terrifies me. It’s like this big wall that I know I’ll have to get over one day, but every time I think about trying to clear it I can’t breathe. I start panicking.”

“I think you could do it,” Scorpius murmurs. “I believe you can. If you want to you’ll find a way.” He looks up at Albus and gives him a reassuring smile. “I can help. Your mum can help too. And once you’ve done that you’ll be free. Really and truly back. And you’ll be able to get some help for your shoulder.”

“You make it sound so easy.” Albus sighs and stares down at his hands.

“I know it’s not, though,” Scorpius says, now rubbing his fingertips in long strokes down Albus’s bicep. “The concept is simple, but the execution...”

“The execution feels impossible.”

Scorpius nods, and they lapse back into silence.

Albus can feel the salve really starting to work. Not only is the pain almost completely gone now, but his arm no longer feels uncomfortably hot. The biting, prickling sensation that gnaws at his muscles has faded. He’s no longer afraid of the burns spreading and consuming him, because Scorpius has this under control. And actually, on reflection, having someone else to do this for him is really nice. Trying to apply the salve one handed is tricky, and Albus can never get the right angles and apply the right pressure, but what Scorpius is doing is perfect. Now Albus has let Scorpius do this once, he suspects he’ll never be able to go back.

“How’s that now?” Scorpius asks almost half an hour later, as he finishes rubbing the last bit of salve into Albus’s forearm.

Albus opens his eyes and nods. He flexes his arm and inspects it. The scars are all pale and calm, no angry, aggravated red anywhere. This is as good as it ever gets. “Much better,” he murmurs, then yawns and covers his mouth with his hand. “M-much... Sorry. Much better.”

Scorpius smiles and nudges him. “I think you need to go to sleep.”

Albus pulls a face. “No, I’m fine, I’m just-“ He yawns again and Scorpius laughs.

“Sleep, sweetheart. I’ll wash my hands and be back in a second.” Scorpius presses a fleeting kiss to his temple and gets to his feet, collecting the bottle of salve and its cap and heading off towards the bathroom.

Albus lies on his side and rubs his left arm, checking that every inch of skin feels cool and normal, spreading out the last dregs of the salve. His eyes flicker closed, and he blinks them open, determined to stay awake for Scorpius, but he must drift, because next thing he knows the bed is sinking and an arm winds round his waist.

Albus rolls over to face Scorpius, hugging him tight and burying his face in his shoulder. “Scorpius,” he whispers. “Love you.”

Scorpius sighs and squeezes him tighter. “Love you too. Sweet dreams beautiful.”

And then, all of a sudden, it’s morning. Bright sunlight floods the bedroom and Albus groans and blinks, rubbing his eyes. It takes him a second to work out what’s woken him, but then he realises that it’s Scorpius.

Scorpius has scrambled out of bed and is now stumbling round the room, swearing as he tries to pull his clothes on. “Shit shit shit shit _shit_. I’m late, I’m late, I’m-“

“Scorpius?” Albus asks, sitting up. “Are you okay?”

Scorpius glances up at him and shakes his head. “No. I forgot I have a meeting at work this morning. An important one. I don’t have my robes, I don’t have my notes. I need to go.”

Albus slides out from under the sheets. “Have you managed to find everything?” He asks. “Do you need help?”

“I-I think I’ve got-“ Scorpius stops dead, staring at him. “Okay, you need to stop being so naked and handsome. This isn’t helping me get to work.”

Albus smirks and plucks one of the blankets from the bed, wrapping it round his waist. “Better?”

“Not much. You’re still all-“ Scorpius gestures to his torso. “Merlin I need to stay over on a night when I have nothing to do the next day. I could still be in bed with you.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay whenever you like,” Albus says, finding a t-shirt and pulling it on. “Tonight if you want. Tomorrow? Every night.”

Scorpius smiles. “My dad will never- Shit, my dad. I never told him I was staying with you. I forgot... This is a disaster.” He runs his hands through his hair and stares wildly around himself, panicking.

Albus goes over and touches his hip. “Scorpius, what do you need?”

Scorpius shakes his head. “No idea. I-I think I’ve got everything, I...”

“If you don’t I can send it to you,” Albus says. “Or bring it in person, or you can pick it up.” He winds his arms round Scorpius’s waist and looks him in the eye. “You’re okay. You’ll be fine. Your meeting will be great.”

Scorpius exhales in a slow, steady stream, and looks at him. “I hope so. I really do.”

“Go and shine,” Albus tells him.

Scorpius nods. “Thank you,” he says. “For last night, for everything. I’ll see you soon. I love you.” He kisses Albus briefly, then pulls back.

Albus smiles broadly back at him. “Thank _you_ ,” he replies. He catches Scorpius for one last kiss, then lets him go, and Scorpius disappears out into the morning, leaving Albus alone but entirely content.

Scorpius clatters up the Manor stairs and hurls himself headlong down the corridor towards his room. He needs robes, different shoes, and his satchel with all his notes. He doesn’t have time to hang around, and all he can hope is that his dad is asleep, because this is not the moment for an interrogation. Unfortunately, as he sprints past his dad’s room, the door opens and Draco bursts out into the hall, blocking his path. His dad looks a mess. There are dark shadows under his eyes. His hair is hanging loose around his shoulders, limp and tangled. He’s dressed in his robes, but from the creased state of them, Scorpius assumes they’re the same ones he was wearing yesterday.

“Scorpius Malfoy. Where in Merlin’s name have you been?”

“Dad,” Scorpius says, grinding to a halt in the middle of the hallway. He holds his hands up. “I know I didn’t call, and I’m so sorry – a lot of things happened and I got distracted – but I’m really late for work. Please can you save the interrogation for later? Please?”

His dad puts his hands on his hips, blocking the corridor. “And why are you late for work? Where have you been all night? I was-“ The severity of his dad’s stance collapses, and he steps towards Scorpius, lowering his voice. “I was worried sick. I was scared you might have been attacked, injured, that you might even be-“ He shakes his head and clenches his hands into fists.

Scorpius can see that he’s barely holding himself together. He’s shaking as he lifts a hand up to the wall to steady himself. As hard as he tries to hide his emotions, Scorpius can still see how his eyes are shining, bright as two new sickles, how he keeps swallowing to choke down tears, how he’s trying not to look at Scorpius right now.

“Dad,” Scorpius whispers. He goes over to his dad and puts a hand on his arm, then he decides that’s not enough and hugs him instead. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

His dad grips him tight and strokes his fingers through his hair. “You’re here now. You’re safe, you’re- You are safe, aren’t you? You’re not hurt?” He pulls back and examines Scorpius, and Scorpius shakes his head.

“Not hurt, I promise.” He does a little twirl in front of his dad, waving his arms. “See? All four limbs attached and functional. I’m good. I’m- I’m really good actually.”

His dad gives him a long look. “Where have you been all night then?”

“Well,” Scorpius says slowly. “I had a date with Albus, which-“

“You spent the night with Albus?” Draco asks, reeling back a step and examining Scorpius intently. “That’s where you’ve been? Did you sleep with him?”

Scorpius’s cheeks burn and he can’t help but smile, but he holds a hand up to stop his dad talking. “Hang on. Let me explain.”

“You slept with Albus Potter, the boy who abandoned you and broke your heart.”

Scorpius puts a finger to his lips. “Dad? Sshh.”

His dad folds his arms and gives him a hard look. “It can only get worse with explanation.”

“I know,” Scorpius says. “But not the worse you’re expecting.” He takes his dad’s moment of surprise and worry to go ploughing on. “I had a date with Albus, a wonderful date. He took me for dinner on this weird little canal boat that actually turned out to be the most gorgeous restaurant barge, and it- Anyway. I digress. So we left the restaurant and we were walking home, and a pair of um, Dementors sort of attacked us a little bit on the towpath-“

“ _Dementors_?” His dad’s eyes have gone wide, but thankfully he seems too stunned to say anything else.

Scorpius nods. “Yes. But I- Well, I cast a Patronus to scare them off, and then Albus wasn’t in a very good way, so I took him home and we both had some chocolate, and... after that I sort of lost track of time and got a bit distracted.”

“You cast a Patronus?” His dad asks.

Scorpius looks at him. “Yes. Yes, I did. A-a corporeal one. I’ve never done it before, but... you know.”

“So you had a nice date with a boy, saved his life in a Dementor attack, then went home and had sex with him?”

Scorpius opens his mouth, closes it again, then shrugs. “I don’t think I’d have put it precisely like that, but I suppose you’ve covered all the essentials. And now I really really have to go to work.” He starts walking, and this time his dad doesn’t block him. He trails along behind and leans in the doorway to Scorpius’s room while Scorpius pulls his robes on and starts looking for his satchel.

“Were you really attacked by Dementors?” Draco asks.

“You don’t believe me,” Scorpius says, throwing cushions and clothes off the floor and onto the bed in the hope of finding his bag underneath.

“You’re not a liar,” his dad says. “But there haven’t been any Dementor attacks in years. There haven’t even been any sightings. Why... why now? Why you? You and Albus?”

Scorpius shakes his head. “I’d love to speculate but I have no idea. All I know is that they were there and they wanted to kiss us.”

His dad makes a strangled little noise and when Scorpius turns round his sees that he’s gripping the door frame, fingertips white.

“You should report this. Tell Potter. You need to tell Potter, Scorpius.”

Scorpius pauses in his search. “But... Albus. He can’t know about-“

“You were attacked by a pair of Dementors. That’s Potter’s area and he should investigate. Find a way to report it without mentioning Albus if you need to, but _do_ report it. There’s been rumblings of dark activity recently, and this is another incident to add to a growing list. It needs mentioning.”

Scorpius stares at his dad. “What do you mean, rumblings? How do you know more than I do and I work at the Ministry?”

His dad shakes his head. “It’s nothing serious, just movements, shifts in behaviour. Things feel strange. And if Potter doesn’t know yet then he needs to get his head out of his ass and start doing his job.”

Scorpius nods and starts crawling under his bed, feeling around for the bag. “Alright, I’ll tell him. I promise.”

“Good. And here.” His dad draws his wand and waves it. “Accio Scorpius’s satchel.”

Scorpius ducks out from under the bed and sits up. As he does the satchel comes flying across and smacks him directly in the face en route to his dad. He grabs it and rubs his nose and forehead, which sting from the impact. “Thanks, Dad.”

“You’re welcome,” his dad says, tucking his wand away. “Now get to work. And when you come home I think we need to have a talk about your...” he makes a vague gesture, “fraternisations. I want to know you’re being safe. Albus has been missing for six years, who knows where he’s been, what he’s got up to. I need to know that you know how to look after yourself.”

Scorpius’s face feels like it’s on fire. “You are not giving me the talk, Dad. It was bad enough last time. I know what I’m doing, okay? I know how to protect myself.”

“Do you?” His dad asks.

Scorpius nods. “I promise, Dad, I do.”

Draco studies him for a moment. “Fine. Well you can tell me about the date at least. And the Patronus.”

Scorpius smiles and brushes past him out into the hall, where he starts running for the fireplace. “Fine. Whatever makes you happy.”

“Give Potter hell from me,” his dad calls after him.

“I always do!”

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Scorpius gasps as he rushes into Harry’s office. “It’s been one of those mornings, and- I’m sorry.”

Harry glances up from the file he’s reading. “Good morning, Scorpius.”

“Um, good morning, sir.” He stands to attention in the doorway, ready to be told off.

Harry shakes his head and tosses his file onto the pile of detritus on his desk. “Don’t look so scared. Come in properly.” He removes his feet from the desk and sits up. “Your boss had to go and do some paperwork, so it’s just you and me this morning.”

“Okay. Well, I have an update.” He shrugs his satchel off his shoulder and crosses to the desk, resting the bag on one of the empty chairs while he rummages through it for his notes. “I’ve been investigating the league, trying to work out the best way of shutting it down, as you know, and I’ve found-“

“Albus,” Harry says softly.

Scorpius lifts his head and stares at him. “What?”

“You found Albus,” Harry repeats. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Ginny told me. She said he’d been to visit her, and that the two of you are...”

Scorpius freezes, not sure what to do or say, but finally he takes a breath and looks back down at his bag. “He didn’t want me to tell you,” he whispers. “He’s scared. I said I wouldn’t-“ He glances at Harry, a new fear flooding through him. “Are you going to fire me?”

Harry picks his quill up from its stand and twirls it between his fingers. “No,” he says. “No, I’m not.” He gestures to the seat opposite him. “Sit down. Forget about the league, you can catch up with your boss about that later.”

“But there are things I wanted to-“

“Albus is more important,” Harry says. “I need to know how he is. I need to know where he is. I need to know if I can see him.”

Scorpius sighs and sits down, but he slides the notes out of his bag as he does. There are things he wants to raise, things about the league and Dementors. Albus is important but he isn’t everything, even now.

“I don’t think he’s ready to see you,” Scorpius says.

“What does that mean?” Harry asks, voice terse and strained.

“It means he’s afraid,” Scorpius says. “Really afraid. Of seeing you again. I think he’s built it up in his head so much that he can’t see how to go about doing it. He thinks of you and he panics.”

“But I’m his dad,” Harry says, adjusting his glasses. “I don’t understand why he wouldn’t-“

“Don’t you?” Scorpius asks, cutting him off. “The two of you fought for years before he ran away. He wants to see you, I know he does, but I think he’s afraid that you’ll both just start yelling at each other again. He doesn’t want that. He wants you, just you, without any of the baggage.”

Harry grips the edge of the table and nods. “Okay. Okay, I- Alright.” He draws in a breath. “Well in that case I need you to help convince him that I won’t, you know, just start yelling at him.”

“Won’t you?” Scorpius asks. “Start yelling at him straight away?” He doesn’t know why he’s being so bold all of a sudden, why he’s even questioning this. Maybe it’s loyalty to Albus. Maybe it’s slowly gaining an understanding of what Albus went through that caused him to run away. Scorpius doesn’t know if he can convince Albus of anything to do with Harry, because at the moment he’s not convinced it would be a brilliant idea himself.

Harry gets to his feet and starts pacing up and down behind his desk. “I just want to know he’s okay,” he says. “I want to see for myself. Everyone‘s seen him now apart from me. I miss him. I want him back.”

“Not everyone’s seen him,” Scorpius points out. “Lily and James haven’t, and I know he’s desperate to see them.”

Harry waves a hand. “Close enough. Scorpius... Please will you help me? I know he’ll listen to you.”

Scorpius hesitates, thinking. “How about this,” he says finally. “I’ll tell him that you know he’s back, and that you want to see him. That’s the best I can do. I can’t make him come and see you. He... He listens to me, but definitely not that much. He really is scared, Harry. I can help with a lot of things by, you know, by talking to him; showing him I care about him, but I don’t know if I can help him overcome that. I’m sorry.”

Harry shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “No, no. I know. All you can do is try.” He spins round on his heel and claps his hands together. “Um, anyway. You said you had updates. What updates did you have?”

Scorpius opens his notes up. “Right, yes. Well I’ve been examining the makeup of the league, trying to work out weak points where we could cut off funding, that sort of thing, and I haven’t found much, but there are a few names connected with everything that set off alarm bells.” He flips through the pages of his notebook and stops at one that’s a big diagram of names, with arrows connecting them all together. “There are people associated with the league who were friends or associates of former Death Eaters, just a couple of people here and there. It seems odd. I know it’s an illegal form of racing, but they’re all people who have a good standing in society now. I’m sure they could make money elsewhere if they wanted to. And the strangest thing is that, even though we know they’re all people who know each other and move in similar circles, I can’t find anything obvious that connects them. I don’t understand why they would all be involved, separately, in this league. It pays decently and I’ve been told by contacts that it’s exciting to watch, but legal broom racing still pays far better. It doesn’t make sense.”

Harry sits down in his chair and examines Scorpius across the table. “You started this case on Monday, didn’t you?”

Scorpius nods. “Yes, does that matter?”

“It’s Friday. Just five days, and you’ve found all this already?” Harry reaches across and flicks through the pages of Scorpius’s notebook. “It’s impressive.”

Scorpius feels his cheeks burn, and he ducks his head. “It’s my job. I like to work hard.”

“I know,” Harry says, “but still. What do you think the next step is?”

“There are financial accounts,” Scorpius says, flicking through to the next page. “I haven’t had chance to go through them all yet, it’d need a trip to Gringotts I think, and then several days to look at everything, but that might be the next lead. I need to work out what’s missing here. If there’s something financial going on, some arrangement between everyone, that might weave it all together and it might give us a way of pulling the plug.”

Harry smiles. “Good work. Can you handle Gringotts yourself?”

Scorpius nods emphatically. “Of course I can.”

Harry’s smile widens to a grin. “Good. Keep digging then, and let me know what else you find.” He gets to his feet, and Scorpius knows he’s being dismissed, but he’s not done yet. He’s really not done.

“Harry,” Scorpius says, getting to his feet. “There’s something else you need to know.”

“About the case?” Harry asks.

Scorpius shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Go on then.” Harry pauses with his hand on the doorknob, looking at Scorpius expectantly.

Scorpius folds his notebook up and tucks it away, then he crosses the room towards Harry. “Last night... I-I went out for dinner, with- With a friend. And when we were on the way home we were attacked, by a pair of Dementors. I managed to repel them. I cast a Patronus and they left us alone. But I thought... I thought you should know.”

Harry blinks at him. “Dementors?” He asks sceptically.

Scorpius nods. “Two of them. They, um. They tried to kiss us.”

Harry turns right round to face him, frowning. “Why would there have been Dementors in- wherever you were?”

“Near Bristol,” Scorpius supplies. “I don’t know. That’s why I thought I should tell you.” He picks his satchel up and loops the handle over his shoulder. “I talked to my dad about it, and he said there have been rumblings of dark activity going on. Maybe it’s part of that?”

Harry’s frown deepens. “Rumblings... I know about some movements: giants, trolls, the werewolves causing a bit of trouble again, but I wouldn’t call them rumblings. Did he say anything else?”

Scorpius shakes his head. “He said you should already know.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair, which sticks up at the front, flyaway and harassed. “I’ll investigate then. Thank you. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Okay,” Scorpius says.

Harry turns towards the door then pauses and glances back. “Who was your friend?” He asks.

“What?”

Harry gestures to him. “Your friend, the person you were with, when the Dementors attacked. They’d be another witness. It might be useful to talk to them.”

Scorpius swallows. “Oh.” He bows his head. “It was... It was Albus, actually.”

“Albus got attacked by-“ Harry rakes his hands through his hair again and keeps them there for a second. When he pulls them away his hair is sticking up all over the place. Scorpius has never seen it so messy.

“Okay,” Harry says finally. “Okay. I’ll find out what happened. I’ll fix it. I’ll-“ He nods, adjusts his cuffs, and looks at Scorpius. “If, _when,_ you see Albus again... Tell him to be safe?”

“I will,” Scorpius says softly.


	7. Stoppable

_The kitchen door opens and Harry instantly drops his knife onto his chopping board and turns around, hope swelling inside him, the way it always does whenever someone comes home. Ginny is standing in the doorway, emerging from beneath her cloak, expression somber. He grips the back of the chair in front of him, Albus’s chair. Already disappointment is crushing his heart, but he still has to ask, just to make sure._

_“Did you find-“_

_She shakes her head. “Nothing. There’s nothing.”_

_Harry bows his head and nods, tightening his grip on the chair for support. Even after three weeks of this it’s the same torture every day. He’d thought it would get easier but it hasn’t, not even a little bit. There are still the highest highs that come with any hint of a sighting, any new bit of information. Every time someone enters the house, he still desperately hopes that it might be Albus coming home. But every hope turns out to be false, and Albus never comes home. They’re left with devastation and hopelessness that deepens with every passing day._

_Ginny shrugs her cloak off and hangs it by the door, then she comes across and puts her hands on Harry’s arms. “I talked to Current Affairs and they’re running another article tomorrow, looking for any political reasons why Albus might have been taken.”_

_“There are plenty of those,” Harry mutters._

_She rubs his arms. “Exactly. And I placed that advert we talked about too.”_

_Harry nods. “That’s good. That’s- Yeah. And I’ve still got teams in Yorkshire and up on the moors around here. I think we’re going to reassign the Yorkshire team over to the Lake District next week. The Scottish Minister said she’d give us some help with the areas around Hogwarts. It’s just working out where he’d be familiar with, where he’d go.”_

_“He’ll be right under our noses,” Ginny says softly, wrapping her arms round Harry and resting her forehead on his shoulder. “I know he will.”_

_“I agree,” Harry says, hugging her tightly. “That’s why I’m keeping teams down here.”_

_“What about Scorpius?” Ginny asks. “Do we have anyone with him? What if Albus tries to contact him?”_

_“We’ve had the Manor under surveillance for years,” Harry says, “and Hogwarts is closely monitored for the safety of the students. If Albus goes anywhere near Scorpius I’ll be the first to know.”_

_“Good,” Ginny murmurs, rubbing his back. “That’s good.”_

_He nods and holds onto her. She’s been his rock through so much, and right now he needs her more than ever. He doesn’t know where he’d be without her. Normally he’d turn to Ron and Hermione for help in a dire situation like this, but this time Ginny is who he needs. She understands what this is like. She feels the same pain as he does. They’re going through this together in a way that no one else can understand._

_“We’ll find him,” Ginny says softly, massaging his shoulders, which he hadn’t realised were so tight and tense. “We will. Even if it takes years.”_

_“Course we will,” Harry agrees, injecting as much brightness and positivity into the words as he can. If he believes in them hard enough maybe they’ll come true. Magic is a bit like that. You want it and you work at it, and in the end it happens. But spells don’t exist for bringing lost boys home, at least no spell that Harry, Ginny, or even Hermione knows. They’ll just have to wait and hope because there’s nothing else they can do._

“I didn’t know you read the paper.” Delphi flicks the front page of Albus’s open newspaper, jogging it enough that he loses his place. He smiles and looks up at her.

“I don’t. I was just browsing.” Albus shuts the paper and sets it aside. He hasn’t managed to find what he was looking for. There’s no mention of the Dementor attack anywhere, but that doesn’t mean anything. He’s not even that far into the paper.

“What were you browsing for?” Delphi asks, plopping down next to him on the bench at the edge of the training ground.

Albus shrugs. “Nothing much. Just seeing what’s going on in the world.”

Delphi smirks. “Is this new interest in current affairs supposed to impress your boyfriend?”

Albus elbows her in the ribs. “Not everything in my life revolves around Scorpius, you know.”

“Oh,” Delphi says in mock amazement. “It doesn’t? I could have sworn otherwise.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“So why have you been such a stranger then?” Delphi asks, picking up the paper and unfolding it so she can read the front page.

Albus shrugs. “It’s been a busy week. Anyway, it’s not like you haven’t seen me. After seven inseparable years can you not live without me anymore?”

Delphi pulls a face at the paper. “Utter drivel,” she mutters. “No,” she glances up at Albus. “It’s not that I can’t live without you. I’m just worried about your training. And, you know, I miss you.” She gives a little shrug.

Albus grins at her. “Aww, do you really? You’ve never said that before.”

“You’re my best friend,” she says, not glancing up at him as she turns to the next page. “Of course I miss you.”

“Well,” Albus says, patting his hands on his knees as he works out how to deal with this surprising new information. “I’m here now. I’m all yours for the day – Scorpius is at work.”

Delphi glances up at him. “At _work_ work? Not snooping around here?”

Albus nods. “He had to go to the Ministry for a meeting.”

A tiny frown flickers across Delphi’s forehead, just a fleeting glimpse. “You saw him this morning?”

“He may have stayed over at my house last night,” Albus says, giving her a broad, shining smile.

Delphi’s eyes go wide. “You slept with him? Already? Albus Potter, you saucy little-“

Albus’s cheeks heat up and he gives her a friendly shove on the arm. “It was a difficult evening and we both needed company, so we...” He waves a hand.

“A difficult evening?” Delphi asks, brushing a bit of hair out of her eyes.

Albus nods and explains about the Dementors, while she listens with rapt attention. “That’s why I was reading the paper,” he explains. “I wanted to see if there was any mention of it in the news, but I couldn’t spot anything so far.”

“How did you two escape?” Delphi asks softly, eyes wide.

“Thankfully Scorpius managed to cast a Patronus,” Albus says, a golden swell of pride bubbling up inside him as he remembers the shape of the silver bird sweeping through the night. “A really good one too. A corporeal one.”

“I didn’t know he could do that,” Delphi says.

Albus shakes his head. “Neither did he. I knew he’d be able to get it though. He’s brilliant.”

“So,” Delphi says lightly, leaning back on her hands. “Your new boyfriend saved your life and you repaid him with sex. Not a bad arrangement.”

Albus rolls his eyes. “Anyway, enough gossip about my evening. I thought I wasn’t training enough?”

Delphi shakes herself and sits up. “No, you’re not. I was going to punish you by making you do an actual gym session for once.”

“Are you serious?” Albus groans.

She nods. “Deadly.”

He sighs and picks himself up off the bench. “You’re evil.”

She grins at him. “I know.”

“These,” Scorpius says, slapping an enormous heap of files down onto the table in the library. “Are all the league’s financial records. Knock yourself out.”

Draco eyes the pile sceptically. “Do you have any suggested starting points?”

Scorpius shrugs. “Not really. We need to go through everything.”

“And do you expect their bookkeeping to be reliable and truthful?”

Scorpius shrugs again. “Probably not but it’s worth a start.”

“Alright then.” Draco picks up the first file, pulls up a chair and sits down as he reads. “How was Potter today?”

Scorpius perches on the edge of the table and sifts through the files until he finds a bright turquoise one that he likes the colour of. “Not bad, actually. He liked my investigative work.”

“As he should. Is he going to promote you?”

Scorpius sighs. “Not yet. Probably not ever, but I’m doing my best.” He opens the file to the first page and looks down at the long strings of numbers. There are dozens of these files. They’ll be here all night. “I told him about the Dementors.”

“And?”

“He’s going to investigate. I don’t think he knew what you knew. About all the stuff going on.”

Draco smirks. “Maybe they should make me Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Then they might get something done.”

Scorpius rolls his eyes. “He’s not that bad. You just happen to have an unusual amount of nefarious connections.”

“That’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me,” Draco says, looking exceptionally pleased.

Scorpius smiles and shakes his head. “I’ll put it on your next Father’s Day card.” He flicks to the second page of his file, eyes already blurred from the amount of numbers in front of him.

“Dad,” he says. “You know about money. Is there some sort of spell we can use to do this faster? To detect anomalies, or even look for specific names and organisations? I know there are spells you can use for book research... would they work on this too?”

“Of course,” Draco says, nodding. “There’s nothing especially easy or user friendly, but I’m sure we can work it out between us.”

“Great.” Scorpius draws his wand with a flourish. “Teach me some boring but useful economic magic.”

They end up having to get several books down from the shelves, because the spell is far more complicated than Draco recalled. They sit on the sofa, trying to memorise the long strings of Latin and testing each other on them. It’s a while since Scorpius has learned any completely new spells, and it’s a fun challenge, especially because he can tell he’s picking it up faster than his dad.

“Wrong word again,” he crows, when his dad mixes up the phrase he’s trying to repeat for the third time.

Draco sighs. “I’m too old for this. If you’ve got it memorised why don’t you do the magic?”

Scorpius frowns. “I could... but what if I get it wrong? Don’t you need to check it for me?”

His dad smiles at him. “The day has long passed when I checked all your arithmetic for you. You’re far smarter and more knowledgeable than me these days. I trust your spellwork.”

Scorpius swallows and twists his wand round in his hands. “Are you sure? No one else trusts me...”

“That,” Draco says, pointing at him, “is their fault and not yours. Go on. The world won’t end if you get this spell wrong. Give it a go.”

“Fine.” Scorpius gets to his feet and flips open the first file. He decides that hesitating and making a big deal out of this will only make it worse so he doesn’t hesitate before tapping his wand on the file and letting the long spell come rolling off his tongue.

It works immediately. He withdraws his wand with the last word and the pages riffle through, until the file lies open on an inside page with a single word, Rowle, illuminated in gold.

Scorpius blinks down at the page. He gives his wand an experimental flick to one side and the file flicks to the next result.

“It worked!” He gasps, then lets out a wild giggle and covers his mouth with his hands. “I thought it’d take a lot more tries than that.”

Draco smiles and squeezes his shoulder. “Confidence, Scorpius.”

“Right,” Scorpius says, returning the smile. “Confidence.” He flicks his wand and flips the pages back to the first result. “Well, I suppose we should get on and do some investigating.”

For the next hour and a half they pore over each and every one of the reports, jotting down notes, checking and double-checking spells and findings. Scorpius’s head aches and his throat is dry from casting the complicated spell over and over again. It doesn’t help that the reports are so mind-numbing that they alone would hurt his brain.

When they’re done with the last report he releases the spell and stumbles back to collapse onto the nearest sofa. He hunches over, rubbing his forehead, and his dad gently massages his shoulder.

“You did brilliantly,” he says. “Would you like a drink.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll live.” He rubs his eyes and lifts his head, trying to peer at the parchment in his dad’s hand. He’s been concentrating so hard he hasn’t had chance to register any of the notes they’ve been making. “What are the results?”

“There’s a very clear connection here,” Draco says, “which is a start.” He crouches down on the floor beside Scorpius and rests the parchment on the arm of Scorpius’s chair so they can read together.

“Here are all the names of the people we’ve been looking for,” Draco says, running a finger down the column. “These are some of the numbers they’re associated with, what they’ve paid in, got back, and so on. And this column, here, shows the Gringotts account numbers of all the accounts they were associated with.”

Scorpius scans the parchment, frowning, then glances up at his dad. “But... there’s only one account number there. Surely we’ve done something wrong?”

“It’s not quite the only account number,” Draco says, pointing out a couple of others in the list, odd anomalies amongst the uniformity of all the other transactions. “And you know as well as I do that your spellwork was impeccable. No, I don’t think there’s a mistake at all. I think we just happen to have found our answer.”

Scorpius rubs the very centre of his forehead and stares at the account number. “Can we find out who this belongs to? Do we already know?”

Draco shakes his head. “We haven’t got it here, but...” He brandished his wand and taps it on the front of one of the files, muttering the same spell as Scorpius had used before, but this time using the account number as their search term. Instantly, the file whips open and comes to rest on an inside page, and there, in the centre, clear as day, it says “the account belonging to Miss Delphini Black.”

Draco pulls a face. “Delphini _Black_? There isn’t a Delphini Black on the family tree. Who on earth is that?”

“The Blacks don’t exactly have a small family tree do they?” Scorpius asks. “Couldn’t she be some long lost cousin? Half cousin? Second cousin? Whatever?

“But Delphini,” Draco says. “I’ve never heard that name before.” He looks at Scorpius. “Is she someone who’s mentioned a lot around the league? Is she a racer? Organiser? Someone who’s in charge?”

Scorpius shakes his head slowly, trying to think. Delphini doesn’t ring any bells. He hasn’t read the name in any of his papers, or heard anyone, say it, except- “Delphi!” He gasps. “They’re all connected to Delphi.”

“And who is Delphi?” Draco asks.

“She’s Albus’s friend,” Scorpius says, sitting back in his seat, mind racing. “His best friend. She’s his manager or agent or something. I think she sort of took him under her wing when he ran away. They seem close, but I haven’t met her yet. I hope I get the chance to, but...but, anyway. That’s who she is. Our missing link. Delphini Black. Delphi.”

“Albus’s friend,” Draco says slowly and deliberately, “knows and is taking money from all these people.” He gestures to the list of names, and Scorpius reads down it.

It’s not a good list of names to be associated with, and although he thinks Rowle might be the worst, there’s nothing about it that looks positive, no redeeming features, apart from the fact that Albus is connected to her.

“If Albus trusts her,” Scorpius says, “shouldn’t we give her the benefit of the doubt at least?” He looks up at his dad. “Maybe she doesn’t know much about history. These are all rich families, maybe she just went for rich people and is ignorant of what they’ve done.”

“These aren’t the richest,” Draco says. “They’re just the ones who have money to throw at something like this. And this doesn’t look like ignorance, Scorpius. This looks like fraternisation with Death Eaters.”

Scorpius takes the parchment from his dad and studies it. “I want to go to Gringotts and get more details about her account,” he says. “I’ve got permission to get whatever I need. And maybe... maybe I should ask Albus about her?” He looks up at his dad. “They’re friends. He knows her. He’ll be able to tell me what she’s like.”

“He may also be biased,” Draco points out.

“I can ask other people too,” Scorpius says. “But he’s a good starting point.”

Draco nods. “I suppose you’re right. Be careful, though. Even around Albus.”

“But-“

Draco gives him a hard look. “Scorpius...”

Scorpius sighs and holds his hands up. “Alright. I promise.” He waves his wand to clear the files into a neat pile on the table. “I’m exhausted. I think it’s time for bed now.”

“Not quite,” his dad says. “We have things to talk about, remember?”

Scorpius’s heart sinks as the earlier encounter with his dad comes flooding back. “Dad, do we really need to-“

“Yes. We do.” His dad sits down on the sofa next to him. “Stop pulling that face at me, you look like a child.”

Scorpius sticks his tongue out at his dad, then buries his face in his hands. It’s the best he can do to hide from his dad while they’re both in the same room.

“I need to know that you’re being safe,” his dad says, in a surprisingly soft voice that makes Scorpius look up at him. “That’s all I’m concerned about here. You’ve known this boy for four days-“

“That’s not true! He’s been my best friend for over half my life.”

“And the seven year gap in the middle somewhat negates that,” Draco counters.

“Also,” Scorpius says, slumping down in his seat and folding his arms. “It’s been five days.”

His dad smiles. “Five days, then. The point still stands. You don’t know anything about his life now. He doesn’t know anything about yours. People grow up a lot in seven years. They change a lot. Clearly he’s made friends with the sort of people who would be involved in a Ministry investigation-“

“Innocent until proven guilty,” Scorpius interjects.

Draco holds a hand up. “I know. All I’m saying is to be careful... He’s the first person you’ve slept with, isn’t he?”

Scorpius’s face goes hot as Fiendfyre and he glares at his dad. “I’m not discussing this with-“

“Are you his first too?”

Scorpius glares at him a moment longer to make his point then gives a very tiny shake of his head. “No.”

“And did he look after you? Did you use all the right spells, and-“

“For your information,” Scorpius says loudly, cutting across him. “Albus Severus Potter is an excellent teacher.”

“That may be more information than I was looking for,” Draco says, and Scorpius realises the full implications of his words.

“Oh my- _Dad_!” He buries his face in his hands again. “That wasn’t what I meant. I meant that he’s good at the spells and the-“

“And the?” Draco asks, with just the hint of a smirk.

“I hate you,” Scorpius says, sinking as low as he possibly can in his chair.

“I know,” Draco says. “But I’m glad the two of you had a good time. And I’m glad he looked after you. I’d expect nothing less of him; of anyone my son chooses as a partner.”

“He’s a really good person, Dad,” Scorpius murmurs. “He’s perfect. And he loves me.”

“Has he said that?” Draco asks.

Scorpius nods. “I think we’ve both... we’re on the same page there. He missed me as much as I missed him.” He looks up at his dad. “I know he broke my heart. I know he left me behind. I know all that. I’ve felt it every day for seven years. But I think... I think he felt it too. He’s... He’s really scared, you know? Of coming back. Of people finding him. When he left it wasn’t because of me, it wasn’t about me, but maybe... maybe I can help him now. Maybe I can be the reason he stays.”

“Do you trust him?” Draco asks, looking him in the eye.

Scorpius meets his gaze and nods. “Yes. I do.”

Draco considers for a moment before shaking his head. “You’ve always had good judgement, I know you have. But that doesn’t make it easier...” He sighs. “Will you understand if I keep being sceptical?”

Scorpius smiles. “You’re my dad. Isn’t it your job to be sceptical?”

Draco smiles back. “I suppose it is. You learn by making mistakes and getting your heart broken, and then I’m there to say I told you so and help piece it back together again.”

Scorpius wriggles round and curls up by his dad’s side. “I don’t think I’m going to get my heart broken,” he says. “Not this time.”

His dad wraps an arm round his shoulders and plants a kiss on the top of his head. “I truly hope you’re right.”

Ginny is curled up on the bed, sitting on top of the blankets because it’s too hot to be underneath them tonight. She’s sucking on the end of her quill as she considers the letter she’s writing. Harry know she’s too absorbed in what she’s doing to have noticed him standing in the doorway, but that doesn’t matter to him. It gives him more time to think and work out how to say what he’s going to say.

“Gin,” he says finally. “Can I join you?” It‘s not even remotely what he was trying to say, and now he’s said it he realises how stupid it was.

She glances at the space on the bed next to her, tucks her legs up under her, then shoots him one of her sparkling, mischievous smiles. “It’s your bed too, Harry. You don’t have to ask me to sit down.”

“No,” he says. “I know.”

He crosses the room, twisting his hands together as he does. Even though she’s still writing, he knows she’s got an eye on him. There’s no hiding now. She knows something’s up.

“Who are you writing to?” He asks, as he sits down next to her.

She glances across at him. “Albus. I was going to ask him if he’d like to visit again, or maybe get coffee. If that goes well, I want to invite him for dinner.” She sets the quill and parchment down on the bedside table and shuffles towards him, reaching out to rub his arm. “Are you okay?”

He never knows how to answer that question. It’s been a long time – not since before Albus left – since he’s felt like he could give an unequivocal yes, but at the same time she knows that, and he doesn’t want to worry her even though the answer today is no. Thankfully she understands his silence and reaches up to gently ruffle his hair, flattening the bits of it that stick up everywhere, before dropping her hand to rest on his shoulder.

“What’s up?”

He stares down at his hands. “I had a meeting with Scorpius today.”

Ginny drops her hand from his shoulder and weaves her fingers together with his. “How is he?” She asks softly.

Harry nods. “Okay, I think. It’s always difficult to tell. He’s working as hard as ever. His investigative skills are brilliant. I think he’s better than some of my Aurors.”

Ginny smiles. “That sounds like him.”

“He’s wasted where he is,” Harry agrees. “But I still haven’t been able to persuade any of my recruiters to look past-“ He sighs and shakes his head. “Anyway... He wanted to report a Dementor attack.”

Ginny’s eyes go wide. “A Dementor- But there aren’t any left here, are there?”

“Only a couple,” Harry says. “We’re observing them all though, so we know they haven’t attacked anyone. But he said that these two – a pair of them – attacked him just outside Bristol yesterday night. He fought them off, he said he cast a Patronus, but the fact that they were there...”

“That’s not good,” Ginny breathes. “That’s like when you-“

“I know,” Harry says, looking at her. “It’s definitely a concern.”

“Was he on his own when he was attacked?” Ginny asks. “Did he fight them off alone?”

Harry swallows and doesn’t manage to speak.

“Harry?” Ginny repeats, squeezing his hand.

“Albus,” Harry says finally, in a small, strained voice. “He- he was with Albus.” He looks at her, and she stares back.

“Albus... Albus was attacked?”

Harry nods. “He and Scorpius. They fought the Dementors off together.”

Ginny grips Harry’s hand so hard her fingers turn white. “Is he still in danger? Are they-?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry murmurs. “I’ve got a team on it, but we haven’t found anything yet. We haven’t even found the Dementors. There’s so much that we don’t know...” He releases Ginny’s hand runs his fingers through his hair. “Scorpius told me that Draco thinks there’s something going on. He hears things, you know? He has contacts that we don’t.”

“Do _you_ think there’s something going on?” Ginny asks, crossing her legs and resting her hands in her lap as she looks at him, attentive and curious, not showing any fear even if she feels it. That solidity and courage is what has always helped to keep Harry strong too.

“I don’t know, Gin.” He reaches across and takes hold of her hand. “There are things I haven’t seen before, not in a long time. Movements, whispers, odd stuff. It could mean something, it could mean nothing. But it’s definitely something to keep an eye on. All of it, the Dementors, the strange stuff, everything. You never know when it’ll change from being just a whisper and become a real and present threat...”

Ginny kisses the back of his hand, then reaches across and hugs him. “You’ll deal with it. When it happens you’ll fight it. That’s what you do.”

He rubs her back and rests his chin on her shoulder. “I try. I wish I could do more. I wish I could protect everyone.” He sighs. “I wish I could protect Albus.”

“I know,” she murmurs, squeezing him tight. “I know.”

For a moment Harry sits and holds her, then a thought occurs to him and he pulls back. “Gin... They were attacked just outside Bristol.” He looks at her. “Why would they be in Bristol?”

Ginny shakes her head. “It’s a nice city? We went there on holiday once.“

Harry seizes hold of her hands. “No! It might be where Albus lives. Think about it, we know Scorpius lives at the Manor, Albus has no other connection to Bristol that we know about. Scorpius said they were on their way home. I _bet_ Albus lives there.”

Ginny tugs on his hands. “ _Harry_. Don’t get carried away. It’s the middle of the night, and you can’t go and knock on every door in Bristol on the off chance that Albus lives there. Even if you did, I don’t know if he’d answer.”

“I could break down his door?” Harry suggests.

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t think that would be the best way to convince him to talk to you.”

“I don’t need him to talk to me,” Harry says. “I need to know he’s safe.”

“Well,” Ginny says, giving his hands one last squeeze before letting go of him and shuffling down on the bed. “You can go and wake up everyone in Bristol, but I’m going to sleep.”

Harry shuffles up behind her and puts a hand on her side. “Maybe tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll get an Auror to do it.”

“On a Saturday?” Ginny asks, reaching out to switch off the light.

Harry kisses her shoulder. “I’ll pay them excellent overtime for it.”

Her laugh comes bubbling out of the darkness, then she rolls over in his arms, and he can see her smiling at him through the gloom. “You’re incorrigible,” she says.

Harry kisses her on the lips, slow and lingering. When he pulls back he brushes her hair off her face and looks at her as his eyes adjust to the darkness. “Tenacious,” he says.

“Obsessed,” she counters.

“I prefer driven.”

“Are you really going to knock on every house in Bristol?” She asks.

He removes his glasses and reaches across to put them on his bedside table. “I’m thinking about it.”

She rolls her eyes and kisses him again. “Sometimes I don’t know what to do with you.”

Albus is lying spread-eagled on the gym floor, too exhausted to move. It’s a very hot day, and the single tiny window that’s open doesn’t let nearly enough air into the room. His clothes are all sticking to him, and he knows the whole place reeks of sweat – it always does in here.

“Get up,” Delphi says, nudging Albus’s leg with the toe of her boot.

Albus groans. “I can’t. You’ve killed me.”

“I could do a lot worse than make you work out.” She reaches out a hand, and he grips it and drags himself into a sitting position. “You need to go home and get changed.”

He brushes sweat soaked hair out of his eyes – some of it has grown long enough to start annoying him again – and peers up at her. The sweat stings his eyes, and he has to blink hard to try and get rid of it. “Why?”

“I’m taking you out tonight,” she says, perching on the corner of the weights bench. “You don’t have plans, do you?”

Albus shakes his head. “No, not yet. Scorpius and I haven’t had time to talk.”

Delphi waves a hand. “You can see him tomorrow, or Sunday. Spend all weekend in bed with him, I don’t care. I just want one night.”

Albus folds his arms and looks up at her. “Why do you want to hang out with me?”

Delphi shrugs. “I miss you. And we’re friends! Hanging out is what friends do, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.” Albus gets slowly to his feet, grimacing as his legs complain at him. “Just don’t make me do anything active. I need to take a million ice baths before I can move again.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“Alright,” Albus says with a shrug. “I don’t see why not.”

Delphi grins and bounces on the balls of her feet. It’s so rare to see her look properly happy that Albus smiles too.

“Is there a dress code for this evening’s activities?”

“Anything that’s not drenched in sweat,” Delphi says, pulling a disgusted face at his current clothes. “You’d better shower too.”

“I’ll do it now. Where and when are we meeting?”

Delphi thinks for a second. “Meet me at eight. Inside the gate of Regent’s Park, near the tube station.”

Albus frowns. “Is this a Muggle date or something?”

Delphi snorts. “Hardly. Just a useful place to meet. Bring a broom.”

Albus grins. “Training isn’t a pleasant evening out, Delphi.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “I’m not taking you training. I thought you liked flying.”

“I know,” he says. “I was kidding. So I need to bring a broom and what else?”

“Two brooms,” Delphi says. “We’ll need two brooms. I don’t have one so I’ll need to borrow yours.”

Albus’s grin spreads right across his face. “You’re going flying? I thought you hated heights.”

“No,” Delphi says, pointing at him. “No, that’s not true. I’m perfectly fine with heights. I just think brooms are unreliable and unwieldy.”

Albus beams at her. “But you’ll get on one for me.” He claps a hand to his heart. “It must be love.”

Delphi picks his bag up from the floor and throws it hard at his chest. “Go on. Disappear. And don’t forget my broom.”

Albus catches the bag, still grinning, and swings it over his shoulder. “Oh don’t worry. I won’t.”

When Albus gets home, there’s a letter from Scorpius waiting for him. Even seeing Scorpius’s familiar handwriting – spidery and loopy, not quite elegant and just on the right side of illegible – is enough to make him grin. He tears the letter open and reads, hoping it’s not an invitation to go out tonight, because he’s not sure he can manage to turn Scorpius down.

_Dear Albus,_

_I was wondering if you’d like to meet up for lunch/dinner tomorrow? I have to go to Gringotts in the morning for work, but after that I’ll be free all weekend._

_Sorry I can’t meet up tonight. I’m doing some investigate work with my dad – it keeps him busy._

_Thank you for last night. It was perfect, apart from the Dementors, but even they were vastly improved by you being there to help me._

_I really hope to see you tomorrow. I also really hope you’re okay with replying to Owls, I suppose I should have checked that._

_Happily yours,_

_Scorpius_

Albus knows he’s smiling far more than he should be for such a short letter, but there’s something about Scorpius writing to him that makes his insides glow in the best possible way. Scorpius wrote to ask him out, Scorpius thanked him for last night, Scorpius joked about him being elusive, and Scorpius signed it all ‘happily yours’. Happily. Scorpius is happy, and Albus is overjoyed.

He finds a quill and parchment and starts scribbling a reply before remembering that he doesn’t actually have an owl. He’s spent so long refusing to reply to letters that now he wants to he doesn’t think he can.

With a sigh he casts around for what to do. He could Floo Scorpius, but Draco might answer, and the idea of that is terrifying. He could borrow an owl, or pay a Post Owl, but the post office will be shut by now. Maybe Delphi might have one, or-

A soft hoot from the direction of his sink catches his attention, and he spins round, blinking in surprise as he spots a familiar owl sitting on his draining board. He recognises her as Scorpius’s owl, Ariana.

“Hello,” Albus says, going over to her. “Did he tell you to wait? Your Scorpius is brilliant.”

She gives another hoot, then dips her head and starts clicking her beak under his kitchen tap. It takes him a second before he realises what she wants.

“A drink! Yes. Sorry, it’s a hot day.” He grabs a shallow bowl from his cupboard and fills it with water, then puts it on the side for her. Instantly she starts guzzling it down, and he leaves her to it while he goes and writes his note.

_Scorpius,_

_I’m glad you enjoyed last night. I quite liked it myself. Maybe we could do it again sometime..._

_It’s fine that you can’t meet up tonight. Delphi’s taking me out on a ‘date’. I have no idea what we’re doing but I have to bring brooms. I think it’s a bonding thing._

_If you want to meet up tomorrow you won’t keep me away. I’ll come to Diagon Alley and find you. I might not come as Albus though; I’d rather not cause a riot by having the entire universe recognise me. That might derail our date a little bit._

_Have fun entertaining your dad._

_See you tomorrow._

_Love,_

_Albus_

He rolls it up into a tight scroll before he can cross it all out and start again, casts a spell to seal it since he doesn’t have any wax, and takes it across to Ariana. She’s managed to upend the water bowl in her excitement and is now sitting on top of it, feathers fluffed up and mouth open, glaring at him.

“Well it’s not my fault if you’re going to cause a mess, is it?” He tells her. When he reaches for the bowl she hops off it, and he gives her another quick drink before holding the scroll out to her. “Can you take this to Scorpius for me?”

She eyes him, then snatches it out of his hand.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes. Are you going to carry that in your beak, or do you want me to-“ She takes off and soars out of the open kitchen window before he’s finished his sentence, and he sighs. “I suppose it’s not _that_ far to Wiltshire.”

He puts his quill and parchment away and heads up to his room, where he picks out one of the neatest pairs of shorts he can find and a tank top that he barely ever wears to work out in. He showers and changes, pausing in front of the mirror to run a hand through his hair, which already needs cutting again – it’s growing far faster than it should be – then he digs out his third best broom, grabs his second best broom for himself, and Apparates to London.

Delphi is waiting just inside the park gates, bobbing from foot to foot and watching the passers by with a sharp, intense gaze. She’s so busy staring at a man wheeling a bike between the bright banks of flowers that he manages to sneak up on her and poke her in the arm. She jumps and whips her wand out. The next second it’s pressed hard to his throat, and he has to lift his chin to breathe, hands held up in surrender.

“Delphi, it’s me,” he chokes out. “Sorry. I thought it would be fun to-“

“Sneak up on me,” she says, withdrawing her wand and tucking it away in her pocket. “I could have cursed you, Albus. You should be more careful.”

“You could,” Albus says, eyeing the pocket her wand has disappeared into. “I just wanted to have a bit of- anyway. Thank you for not cursing me.” He holds one of the brooms out to her. “This is for you, as requested.”

“I almost hoped you’d forget it,” she says, taking it off him.

He grins. “Not a chance. I want to see you fly. I can give you some tips if you want.”

Delphi snorts. “I’m not taking tips.”

“Not even from the best broom racer around?” Albus hops onto his broom and looks at her. “Better while we’re on the ground than in the air.”

Delphi lifts her chin and swings her leg over her broom and grips the handle as she steadies herself. “It’s not as if I’ve never flown before.”

Albus frowns. “ _Have_ you flown before?”

“I work for a broom racing league,” Delphi says. “Of _course_ I’ve flown before.”

She kicks off from the ground and rises a few feet. Albus can tell from the way she’s gripping the broom, hard enough for her hands to shake, that she’s far from relaxed, and it looks for a moment like the broom is considering rebelling against her. But then Albus reaches across and steadies it and it calms down under the familiar touch.

“Relax,” he tells her. “The calmer you are, the easier it’ll be. Like any magic I suppose.”

“I’m perfectly relaxed, Sev,” she says, wobbling as she lifts the handle of the broom and it rises rapidly, much faster than she’d clearly meant it to.

He laughs. “No you’re not.” He glides up beside her and puts a hand over hers. “Stop holding on so tight. I promise it’ll help.”

“Won’t that make me more likely to fall off?” Delphi asks, glancing across at him and nearly slipping sideways.

Albus grabs hold of her arm and pulls her upright. “Careful.”

“I told you it’d just make me more likely to fall off,” she huffs.

Albus sighs. “Relax your hands, concentrate, don’t look at me, don’t be scared, and you’ll be fine.”

“Oh is that it?”

Despite the tetchiness in her tone, she inhales, looks straight ahead, and slowly relaxes her grip. The effect is instantaneous. The broom levels out and seems to become lighter in the air. It’s not fighting anymore, but obeying Delphi’s touch, so when she lifts the handle it rises smoothly and gradually.

“That’s it,” Albus says, unable to keep a hint of smugness out of his voice. This is the one thing in the world where he actually feels as if he knows what he’s doing. This he’s allowed to be smug about.

“I was just testing you,” Delphi mutters.

“Uh huh,” Albus says, but he doesn’t push it any further. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to that big Muggle skyscraper – the Shard,” Delphi says. “Right to the top.”

“Are you sure you can make it that high without falling off?” Albus asks, shooting a grin at her.

She raises the handle of her broom in defiance, and they both ascend together, leaving Regent’s Park behind them and skimming away across London.

“My first flying lesson at Hogwarts was a dismal failure,” he tells Delphi as they go. “Did you know that?”

She shakes her head. “No, I didn’t.”

“I mean, everything at Hogwarts was a dismal failure, but that in particular was...” he sighs and shakes his head. “It was an unmitigated disaster. It wasn’t even that I’d never flown before and didn’t know what I was doing. You can’t grow up in my family without flying, it’s in our DNA. But when I got there I was so scared of getting it wrong that I couldn’t get the broom to listen to me. You can’t fly if you’re scared. Those school brooms are flighty at the best of times. They’ll only pay attention to confidence, talent, and sometimes hope. I didn’t have any of those things.”

He looks down at the city below them, at the rivers of cars flowing down the streets, at the tiny green squares, at the sparkling glass of the buildings, at the grass of the parks, drenched in the red sunset. The view is one of the things he’s grown to love most about flying. The world looks different up here. It looks more inviting. You can see how it works, how everything just happens and will continue to happen, how you don’t need to worry because things fall into place. It’s far more difficult to see that when you’re in amongst the chaos and you can’t find your place.

“That was the second time I felt like I didn’t fit in,” he continues. “And that was the worst. Once is a coincidence. Getting sorted into Slytherin... I still had some hope that things might be alright. But then the flying lesson fell apart and that was when I really knew that nothing would work. You can’t be a Potter if you can’t get a broom to obey you.”

“And now the brooms obey you,” Delphi says, “and you don’t want to be a Potter anymore.”

Albus skims his hand down the handle of his broom and bows his head. “I don’t know. For a long time I didn’t. I wanted to be anything else, any other name, any other family. But now... Now I just want to be me.”

“Sev?” Delphi asks.

Albus swallows and shakes his head. “No. Albus.”

Delphi glances in his direction for an instant, eyebrows raised, then looks straight back ahead.

“That’s not what you wanted to hear,” Albus murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not _not_ what I wanted to hear,” Delphi says. “But it’s unexpected. I thought Albus was your past.”

Albus shakes his head. “I don’t know what he is. I don’t know _who_ he is. I don’t know, Delphi.”

“How can you want to be someone you don’t know?” Delphi asks, pulling a face. “That makes no sense.”

“I know it doesn’t. But... I spent so long trying to be anyone other than Albus, and then I spent so long trying to be Sev... I don’t want to try anymore. I just want to be. I don’t know _how_ to do that. I don’t know how to be satisfied with my existence, maybe it’s impossible, but now seems like a good time to have a go.” He shrugs. “If it doesn’t work out maybe I’ll go back to being Sev, but I won’t know that it won’t work until it all goes wrong.”

Delphi nods, carefully considering. “Well firstly, it all went wrong before, so it probably will go wrong again. Secondly, no one’s satisfied with their existence, Sev. It’s impossible. Everyone’s unhappy. That’s how life works.”

“Is it?” Albus asks.

“Absolutely,” Delphi says, and she sounds so certain about it that Albus almost reconsiders. But then he remembers Scorpius. He remembers how happy he’d been kissing him. He remembers the golden glow of joy and contentment. He remembers his stomach swooping as he flew down the gorge the other night, when everything felt glorious and easy.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “I really don’t know. And just because it went wrong before doesn’t mean... I’m older now. I think I might be more determined. I’m ready to fix things.”

“It’s going to be a disaster,” Delphi says, throwing him another glance. “You’ll get your heart broken again. We’ll have to fix it all again. Nothing will be better. Take the future you’ve got as Sev and run. Quit while you’re ahead.”

“What is the future I’ve got as Sev?” Albus asks.

Delphi grins. “Yes, about that.” She takes one hand off her broom and gestures to the towering spire of the Shard in front of them. “Allow me to show you.”

They soar up over the lip of the tower, and Albus gently touches down on the flat roof right at the top, nestled between the jagged top pieces of the four glass walls. He waves Delphi in, encouraging her down, and when she gives up and hops lightly off a couple of feet off the ground, he grabs her hand to support her.

“I hate brooms,” she says, glaring at it and shuddering. “Anyway.” She gives him a dazzling smile. “Welcome, Sev, to the roof of the world.”

Albus looks around at the city spread out below them, all streams of twinkling light, fractured and segmented by the dark river and train lines. “What are we doing up here?” He asks. “This is a little bit illegal.”

Delphi tuts. “Your entire existence is illegal. Come and sit.” She takes hold of his hand and guides him to the edge, where she sits with her feet dangling over the endless drop. When Albus hesitates to join her she rolls her eyes.

“You’ll sit on that thing and fly all the way up here but you won’t hang your feet over the edge? Come on.”

“They’re two very different things,” he says, but he reluctantly sits next to her, putting his feet over the edge and doing his best not to look straight down.

“Good boy.” She pats his hand, then twists round and starts rummaging in her bag. “Here. I need a drink after that flight.” She pulls a bottle of Firewhisky and two shot glasses out and sets them down between the two of them.

“We’re getting drunk at the top of a very tall building before flying home?” Albus smiles. “It’s like you have a death wish.”

“And you don’t?” She pours him a liberal helping of Firewhisky. “Drink.”

He sighs, but there’s no real reluctance as he takes the drink and knocks it back in one. It sears the back of his throat and makes his toes curl, but it’s good. It’s delicious. Already he can feel it numbing his senses in the most perfect way, and he grins and leans back on his hands, kicking his heels against the metal beam supporting them.

“So,” he says. “Why have you brought me to,” he gestures the width of the skyline, “the roof of the world?”

“I wanted to remind you what the world looks like from above,” Delphi says, looking at him. She’s holding her own glass of Firewhisky in her hand, but hasn’t drunk any yet. “Do you remember,” she says, “when you first ran away, and that night when you were really upset, we went and sat at the top of the stadium during the race?”

Albus remembers. He remembers like it was yesterday. He hadn’t started racing yet, he was afraid of everything and feeling more inferior than he ever had. The fire all seemed so much hotter back then, before he’d truly been bitten by it. The racers all seemed faster, the crowds noisier, and every time he saw someone in blue robes he’d flinch, terrified that his dad or one of the Aurors had found him. He couldn’t race. He couldn’t do anything. He was worse than useless.

And on the day when he most wanted to go home – when his mum’s first letter to him arrived and he made the mistake of reading it, when he’d spent the whole day crying – Delphi had found him and brought him to the top of the stadium where they’d been racing. It was an old Quidditch World Cup stadium, back from when his dad had still been in school, perched out on a desolate moor side, away from the world. The sides were steep, towering up into the air, an enormous bowl shape, and when he was standing on the pitch Albus felt like an ant, tiny, inconsequential, and more than a little bit lost. But from the top they could look down on everything and everyone. The fire felt less hot up there, the noise less overwhelming, even the race looked slower. Albus relaxed and saw the beauty of it all, and Delphi talked him through it.

_“This is your life now, Sev,” she said. “Embrace it. Own it.”_

_“The future is mine to make,” he murmured, and she nodded and wrapped an arm round him._

_“You’re free, so let yourself feel free. Let go. You can do this.”_

_He took a breath and leaned against her. “I-I can.”_

_“Whenever you get scared,” she said, “imagine you’re up here. Everything is smaller than you, everything is laid out for the taking. You can do whatever you want.”_

_“I want to win a race,” he said. “Just one. Then I might feel like I belong.”_

_Delphi snorted. “You’d better win more than one. But one is a good starting point. And you can do it. I have complete faith in you.” She turned and looked at him. “Make all this yours. Believe that it’s here to let you become who you should be, and nothing will ever stop you.”_

“This is your world, Sev,” Delphi says. “This is our world. We can do whatever we want, and nothing can ever stop us.” She downs her shot of Firewhisky in one, throwing her head back, so her silver ponytail swishes behind her. When she’s done, she pours two more shots and hands one to Albus. “You’ve got so grounded over the last week. I can see you forgetting all this. You’re getting weighed down by life again, by people. By Scorpius, your parents, your past. Don’t lose this,” she says, gesturing to the view. “Don’t lose your freedom. Don’t become stoppable.”

Albus braces his hands on the edge of the building and looks down at his knees. He can see the drop beyond, and it makes him feel vulnerable and queasy. “I hate it though,” he says. “This feeling that I’m floating and there’s nothing holding me down. Some days it feels like I could disappear and no one would notice. I suppose in a way I’ve already done that...”

“Sev isn’t someone who could disappear,” Delphi says, patting his hand. “Everyone knows Sev. Everyone loves Sev. Sev is a winner; a hero. You’re not going anywhere.”

“But...” Albus sighs. There’s no point explaining to her again that he doesn’t know if he wants to be Sev anymore. Clearly she doesn’t understand. How can someone like Delphi, who’s so certain and put together, possibly understand what it’s like to feel fractured, to be so many different people but no one all at once. She can’t know what it’s like to feel like he’s playing pretend, like he’s trying to be someone but failing. She knows who she is. She’s nothing but what she appears to be, and that’s the thing Albus has always envied about her most of all.

“Sev,” she murmurs, and she leans across to kiss him on the cheek. “Stop thinking.”

I can’t, Albus thinks, but he doesn’t say it. Instead he knocks back his second shot of Firewhisky.

“Good,” Delphi says. She ruffles her fingers through his hair and pulls back to look at him. “You need to cut it again. It’s got longer.”

Albus sighs. “I know. I only cut it the other day. I quite like it this length, though. It doesn’t look too much like my dad’s, does it?”

“It’s about as scruffy as his,” Delphi says, running her fingers from his forehead all the way back to his neck, examining every inch. “If I were you I’d cut it. But I’m not you, and clearly you’re going to do whatever you want anyway.”

“Sev would want it shorter,” Albus says, tugging on a bit of his fringe to pull it into view. He looks at it for a moment, then lets it ping back into place as he pours himself another shot.

For a while after that they sit quietly, listening to the distant sounds of the bustling city below. A train rattles along the tracks below them, car horns honk as people in bumper to bumper traffic struggle to get home from wherever they’ve been all day, people shout and laugh, an aeroplane soars overhead, a stiff breeze rushes past Albus’s ears. And above it all, the moon and stars hang, utterly silent but ever watchful. They see everything.

Delphi takes two more shots, and is nursing a third between both hands when she speaks again and breaks the silence between them.

“Do you ever think about what it would be like to rule over all this?”

Albus snorts and knocks back his third shot. “No. I can’t say I do. Why?”

“I do,” Delphi says. She takes her shot and picks up the bottle to pour another. “All those people out there answering directly to you, listening to your every word. You get to decide everything. You control it all. Everyone’s lives at your mercy...” She shakes her head and her eyes glint in the moonlight. “That would be... it would be incredible. All that power.” She inhales, tipping her head back like she wants to draw in as much of the sweet night air as possible.

Albus smiles and reaches across to take the Firewhisky bottle from her. “Delphi, I think you might have had enough to drink now.”

“No!” She holds the bottle away from him. “I’m fine. Just imagine it, Sev. We could have anything and everything we ever wanted. We could have palaces, fame, fortune. You could even have Scorpius if you wanted. And you would never disappear. Everyone would know your name. Everyone.”

Albus rolls his eyes and makes another grab for the bottle. “You have _definitely_ had too much to drink. Is this what you think about in your spare time? Being supreme ruler of the universe? Because it’s a bit weird, Delphi.”

“It’s not weird,” Delphi says. “It’s ambitious. You’re a Slytherin. You understand ambition, I know you do.”

“Well yes, but-“

“Then you must have thought about this too.” She pours another shot and downs it in one before relinquishing the bottle and spreading her arms, a manic gleam in her eyes. “When you’re up here everything is laid out for the taking. You can have whatever you want. And I want everything.”

“There’s ambition,” Albus says, putting the bottle as far away from her as he can get, “and then there’s world domination. Those aren’t the same.”

“They can be if you try hard enough,” Delphi tells him, and he can tell that she’s deadly serious. “Can I have the bottle back?”

Albus shakes his head. “You may not have the bottle back. You have to fly down from here and you were bad enough sober. No more alcohol for you.”

“I don’t need the broom,” Delphi says, wrinkling her nose. “I can just jump. Jump and fly.”

Albus reaches out and takes hold of her arm. “Delphi, I’m not letting you jump off a building. We’re getting down now. Come on.”

“But-“

Albus shakes his head. “No.” He scrambles to his feet, holding the bottle well out of her reach, and tugs on her hand. “Up you get.”

Delphi groans and gets up. “You’re such a spoilsport, Albus.”

“That’s me.”

She makes another grab for the bottle, but he just about keeps it away. He fumbles in his pocket for his wand and points it at the bottle to vanish it. Even though he’s never successfully vanished anything before in his life, the bottle disappears in an instant, and he stares at his empty hand in amazement.

“Did you just vanish my Firewhisky?” Delphi asks, sounding as stunned as he feels.

“I-I think I did...” Albus says, still staring at the space where the bottle should be.

Delphi catches hold of his arm and pulls it towards her so she can examine his hand. “Albus Severus Potter. You vanished my Firewhisky. I can’t believe you. I thought we were friends.”

He laughs. “We are. I’ll get you a new bottle, once your feet are firmly back on the ground.”

“But I wanted us to get drunk while we survey our future kingdom.”

“Well,” Albus says. “You’ve succeeded in the getting drunk part. Do you want to go on the back of my broom on the way down?”

Delphi shakes her head and wraps her arms round him, holding him tight and looking at him. Her eyes are dark with her back to the moon, but they burn, hot as coals. She brushes her fingers over his cheek and down to his left shoulder onto his back, where she lets it rest right over the wing tattoo on his shoulder blade.

“Will you be in my future?” She asks softly. “Will I be in yours?”

Albus rests a hand on her back, holding her steady. “Of course. Both. You’re my best friend, Delphi.”

“Will you still think that tomorrow when you’re in bed with Scorpius?”

Albus’s face goes hot, despite the sting of the cold wind. “You saved me, Delphi. You showed me that I _have_ a future. You brought me up here to show me the world and get me drunk on Firewhisky. You’re perfect. You’ve always been perfect.” He runs a hand over her bare back, where he knows her wing tattoo is exposed. “You and Scorpius aren’t in competition. I want you both and I need you both. A future without either of you isn’t a future I’m interested in, so don’t worry about that.”

He kisses her on the cheek, and she closes her eyes and rests her head on his shoulder.

“Good,” she murmurs.

“But,” he says, gently tickling her side to get her attention back. “If you fall off a broom now and die then I’m going to _have_ to live without you, which isn’t a great prospect, so I think we should get down from here now, and I think you should ride on the back of my broom.

“I can fly myself,” she protests, lifting her head.

“Can you?”

She twists round and glances at the brooms. “Okay fine. Maybe I’ll ride with you. I hate brooms.”

Albus kisses her forehead. “I know. Let’s get you home.”


	8. Fire

_Scorpius sits at the kitchen table, hunched over the day’s newspaper, trying to keep himself calm. His hands are shaking, and the corner of the paper is crumpled in his grip. His chest has gone all tight and he’s finding it difficult to breathe._

_How many times has his dad told him to stop reading the paper? But he hasn’t yet. He can’t. He needs it for work. And even if he didn’t need it, he still wants to know what everyone is saying about him. If he’s going to be subject to the court of public opinion he needs to know what the evidence against him is. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt._

_He takes a deep breath and turns over from the front page – which features a large copy of his Hogwarts seventh year school photo – and starts reading the story inside._

Following months of speculation, Daily Prophet reporters have uncovered evidence of a Ministry investigation into Scorpius Malfoy, in connection with the disappearance of Albus Severus Potter.

Malfoy, a recent Hogwarts graduate who last month secured a job at the Ministry, has long been a prime suspect in the case, but only now does it seem that the Ministry has begun to take the matter seriously.

New documentation, leaked yesterday from inside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, shows that Malfoy has been questioned about his knowledge of Potter’s latest movements since commencing his new job. It also shows that the Ministry is now searching areas around Hogwarts, as well as parts of the Wiltshire countryside close to where Malfoy still lives with his father, Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy Sr, a former Death Eater, and his wife Astoria, now deceased, have been the subject of intense speculation since the birth of their son in 2005, with many believing that Scorpius is actually the child of Lord Voldemort. Although Malfoy Sr has denied these rumours, the recent disappearance and subsequent investigation have done nothing to dispel them.

When asked about the investigation, Malfoy Sr made no comment.

At the Ministry of Magic, Harry Potter, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and father to Albus Potter, also made no comment, although a spokesperson gave a statement on his behalf.

“We strongly deny speculation that our new recruit, Scorpius Malfoy, is under investigation for any criminal activity, including in respect to the disappearance of Albus Potter. We are pleased to have Mr Malfoy working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and would like to remind all recent Hogwarts graduates that the Ministry is an excellent place to develop a career.”

Despite this statement, the general public still believe that Malfoy is somehow connected to Potter’s disappearance.

“I think he should be suspended immediately,” said Doris Blexley, 52, of Abbotsbury Hill. “The Ministry shouldn’t be hiring dangerous wizards, especially not ones with such close ties to the Dark Lord. He should be locked up until he tells us where he’s hidden the body.”

‘The story continues on page 35.

_He closes his eyes and buries his face in his hands, but not before a tear drips off his chin and splatters on the middle of the news print, blurring the words._

_He should be over this by now. It shouldn’t hurt him anymore. He’s heard all this over and over again for more than a year now. It’s just what people say, what people believe. Nothing new. Nothing that’s even true. It shouldn’t feel like this._

_But still, the fact that people believe it’s his fault Albus is gone, the fact that people believe the rumours, it aches. People out there, so many people, think the worst of him. It’s almost enough to make him think the worst of himself._

_He rests his forehead on the table, not caring if the newsprint stains his skin. He wants to shut the world out and pretend none of this is happening. He wants to pretend that no one knows his name, no one despises his existence. He wants to pretend that he’s just another kid who graduated from Hogwarts earlier in the summer, with his whole hopeful future ahead of him._

_If only that were true._

Scorpius always tries to avoid Diagon Alley, especially on a Saturday, but sometimes it’s impossible. This morning he has no choice but to go through it en route to Gringotts, and it’s utter hell.

It’s a point of pride that he never walks through here in disguise or invisible. If he’s going to be here, he’s going to be seen, no matter what trouble it attracts. But today, even if he wanted to hide himself, he couldn’t. He’s wearing his work robes, and he needs to look like himself so he can deal with the goblins. It’s difficult enough getting them to help with investigations even when he has a valid ID. A disguise could get him banned from the bank forever.

He keeps his head down as he goes through the Leaky Cauldron, and no one bothers him, which is a good start. But it doesn’t last long though. The second he steps out into the sunshine of the main street, people start looking at him, and once they’ve started looking at him they begin to recognise him, and that’s where the trouble really begins.

A woman barges past him, clouting him hard with her bag. It could just be that it’s busy, but Scorpius sees the look of pure disgust that she shoots in his direction. A man with two kids pulls them away from Scorpius, like he’s worried they might catch a disease if they get too close. Yet more people scramble out of his path, and the street seems to clear in front of him, but that just makes him more conspicuous.

Whispers follow him as he walks. A couple of kids run giggling in front of him, throwing glances at him over their shoulder. It must be a game to them, seeing how close they dare get to Albus’s murderer, kidnapper, whatever people think he is.

He bows his head to try and hide a bit more, because he’s tall enough that everyone in the whole street can probably see him right now, especially with the crowd parted around him like it is. It doesn’t help though. Just as he bows his head he feels something splatter through his hair and drip down onto his neck. He exhales slowly, trying not to physically react, even though he wants to shudder, find out what it is, and wipe it away. If he does any of that it’ll just give them the satisfaction.

A couple of people behind him giggle, and he closes his fingers round the handle of his wand. It’s comforting to know that if he wanted to defend himself he could. There are countless things he could do. He could disguise himself, Apparate out of here, turn himself invisible, cast a shield between him and the crowd, even fight them if he had to. He has options. He has the power here, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.

Gringotts is just up the street. He can see it now, over the heads of the crowd. The soaring white columns, and the heavy door that will offer him some respite. He’s nearly there, and once he’s there he’ll be safe. He’d rather contend with the goblins than all these people.

He keeps walking. The people up ahead haven’t realised who’s coming, so there’s no path through them. He joins the crowd and feels both less and more vulnerable all at once.

He hugs himself and hunches up, hoping to protect himself at least a little bit. People jostle around him. Someone treads on his toes. A couple more push past like he’s nothing. One person gives him a proper shove that sends him reeling sideways, almost knocking over a couple of barrels outside the apothecary. He apologises to the people standing there and rushes on, moving as fast as he can towards the bank.

More whispers, more stares, more shoves. Someone spits at his feet. Someone else tries to do the same thing and the spit splatters on his shoes.

It’s a relief to reach Gringotts’ door. He rushes through and leans against one of the inside columns, enjoying the cool, dark, quiet empty space. Only then does he allow himself to reach back and get rid of the substance in his hair. It’s thick and goopy, and it only takes a couple of seconds to realise that it’s frogspawn. Someone has thrown frogspawn at him. That’s a new one.

With a sigh he draws his wand and vanishes it, then he gives a sweeping flick to neaten his hair up, and finally gets rid of the spittle from the toe of his shoe. Once that’s done he feels almost human, almost respectable, and he takes a deep breath and draws himself up to his full height before fishing out his ID and approaching the counter.

The goblin perching on the stool behind the counter doesn’t look up straight away. She’s peering down at some paperwork, and doesn’t seem at all interested in serving Scorpius anytime soon. He clears his throat hopefully, and puts his ID down on the counter, but she gets right to the bottom of the page she’s filling out before finally removing her reading glasses and looking up at him.

“Can I help you?”

Her tone is dripping with irritation, and it couldn’t be clearer that Scorpius is causing her a huge inconvenience by being there. Nevertheless, Scorpius gives her a bright smile.

“Hi! I’m here on Ministry business.” He pushes the ID towards her so she can see it.

She gives him a hard look and doesn’t bother to look down at his badge. “And?”

“And,” he says, fumbling in his pocket for the scrap of parchment with Delphi’s name and account number on, “I’d like to trace an account, please. This one. It’s an account belonging to Delphini Black? I can tell you the number...”

The goblin doesn’t take her eyes off him as she clicks her fingers. Nothing appears in front of her, and only then does she look away from him, a small frown of confusion on her face. She clicks her fingers again but still nothing happens.

“Are you sure that’s the correct name?” She asks.

Scorpius nods. “I’m positive... Can you search by the account number instead? It’s...” he glances at the paper. “It’s 456. That’s the vault.”

There’s another snap and this time a file appears on the table in front of the goblin. She opens it up and reads the first line. “Vault 456 belonging to Cygnus Black...” She looks up at Scorpius. “The name and account number do not match. Why is this?”

Scorpius swallows. “I-I’m not sure. I got them from financial records. They should match. I don’t know why they wouldn’t... Is it possible for someone to use someone else’s account? If they’re a family member or something? Old accounts are passed down, aren’t they?”

“This one was closed in 1979,” the goblin says with a tone of finality, but then she pauses and frowns at the page. “But then reactivated in 2015, And has been in regular use since...”

“Is that strange?” Scorpius asks.

“Accounts cannot usually be reactivated,” the goblin says sharply. “Except in special circumstances. It is not strange, but it is unusual.”

Scorpius leans forward, trying to read the file. “So what might the special circumstances be?”

The goblin shrugs. “There are many. A long lost relative with a claim to use the vault, someone thought deceased who is found alive... The special circumstance is not listed here. That is between the account manager and account owner.”

“Can I talk to the account manager?” Scorpius asks.

The goblin almost looks amused. “No. You may not.”

“But-“

“She is away on business and will return in three weeks.”

“Can I not even send her an Owl?” Scorpius asks, casting around for any solution.

“No,” the goblin says flatly. “You may make an appointment for her return if you wish.”

Three weeks is a long time. It might be too long. And knowing the circumstances isn’t that important. He knows who’s using the account and what they’re using it for, and those are the most crucial bits of information. The special circumstances are just a matter of academic interest. He doesn’t need them.

“No,” he says. “That’s fine. I don’t really need to know. There is one thing though. Is the account registered to an address at all? Are you allowed to tell me that?”

The goblin glances down at Scorpius’s Ministry ID, then up at his face, before tutting and looking back at the file. “I suppose I am. The account is registered to Hangleton Hall, Little Hangleton.”

“Can I borrow your quill?” Scorpius asks, with what he hopes is an endearing smile.

The goblin gives him a very long, hard look before handing her quill over.

“Thanks,” Scorpius says brightly. He takes the quill and scribbles the address on his scrap of parchment. “That’s really helpful.”

“Is there anything else you need?” She asks, snapping the file shut.

Scorpius thinks for a second, then shakes his head. “No. An address is a good starting point. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, in a tone that implies Scorpius is dismissed. She clicks her fingers and the file disappears, leaving her free to go back to her paperwork.

Scorpius hesitates by the desk a moment longer, then turns and heads for the doors out of the bank, trying to remember why the name Little Hangleton sounds so familiar to him.

Albus is asleep when the owl swoops in through the open window and lands on him. In his dreams he feels claws dig into his back, and he jerks awake with a yell, rolling over and patting his hands against his back to try and work out if there’s still anything touching him. The owl takes flight in a flurry of wings, and ends up perching on the edge of his bedside table, hooting reproachfully.

“It was you,” Albus gasps, staring at it. “Why would you sneak up on me like that? I was asleep.”

The owl gives a very unapologetic hoot and sticks its leg out. There’s a morning edition of the Daily Prophet tied to it. Albus has only taken the subscription out because of the Dementor attack, and because he has so much to catch up on. He has no idea what’s going on in the world, and the best way of finding out is the Prophet. There’s also the hope that he’ll find some of his mum’s writing inside. That would be nice.

He unties the paper from the owl’s leg, drops a sickle into the money pouch, and unscrolls the paper as the owl flies away. The front cover flashes up at him, a chaotic riot of adverts, stories, photos, and screaming headlines.

‘St Mungo’s approves new cure for Spattergroit’

‘Unspeakable scandal at the Department of Mysteries’

‘Outcry over proposed closure of Upper Flagley Potions Library’

‘Werewolf activity on the rise, Harry Potter confirms’

The last one catches Albus’s eye and he starts to skim through the article. It’s not as interesting as it sounds, just a short snippet about the werewolves being more active than normal, with a quote from his dad assuring the public that no one is in danger, that the situation is being monitored, and that the Wolfsbane Potion programme is still as effective as ever. He’s just about to skip away from the article and turn the page when a comment right at the bottom catches his eye.

_Despite Potter’s insistence that the situation is under control, recent scrutiny of poor decision making within the DMLE casts this into doubt. The Department continues to defend the employment of Scorpius Malfoy, prime suspect in the disappearance of Albus Severus Potter over seven years ago, despite an ongoing investigation._

Albus stares at the words on the page.

Prime suspect. What does that mean?

‘Prime suspect in the disappearance of Albus Severus Potter.’

Does that mean that people think Scorpius is to blame for him leaving? Do they think Scorpius kidnapped him? Killed him? How long has this been going on for?

There’s an ongoing investigation... The Ministry is defending Scorpius’s employment... Is this why Scorpius is stuck in the job he is? People think he shouldn’t be employed at all?

Albus reads the paragraph again, and again, trying to comprehend, but he can’t. None of this goes along with the Scorpius that he knows. None of it makes sense. How it can make sense to anyone is beyond him. Scorpius isn’t suspicious. Scorpius can’t be under investigation. Scorpius _especially_ can’t be under investigation for this, because it has nothing to do with him. This is all Albus.

But it’s just one article. Maybe it was a mistake or something. Maybe it was misphrased. Maybe... Maybe.

Albus turns the page and reads on, but the more he reads, the more he realises that there’s no mistake. There’s nothing explicit or obvious, but scattered throughout the stories are odd little comments, things that make Albus’s heart sink and his blood boil.

There’s another comment about Ministry incompetency in an article about vampires, that Albus can tell has more to it than meets the eye. In an article about wage rises at the Ministry there’s a mention of suspected criminals being part of the staff. And the worst comes from an article about a mysterious disappearance. ‘Let’s hope the son of Voldemort isn’t involved in this one too, or the Ministry will never bother to solve it.’

Albus drops the paper onto the bed and falls back against the headboard, running his fingers through his hair, stunned. It’s everywhere. This is far more than just a mistake. This is some sort of public vendetta against Scorpius. The Prophet hates him, and judging by Albus’s past experiences, if the Prophet hates him then everyone else does too.

He throws his covers off and stumbles to his feet, seized by the sudden urge to fix this. He’s the only one who can, after all. He’s the one who disappeared. If he shows up whole and healthy then they can’t blame Scorpius anymore. Scorpius’s name will be cleared and they can all stop talking about him. He can get on with his life and get everything he deserves.

Everyone hates Scorpius.

It hits Albus again and he grips the back of the chair nearest to him. This has been Scorpius’s life for seven years. _Seven years_. And it’s all his fault.

He starts getting dressed. He doesn’t know what clothes he’s putting on, and he doesn’t much care. Whatever he wears now it doesn’t matter as long as he’s decent. Except when he looks in the mirror he realises he’s put on last night’s tank top, and he doesn’t want the whole world seeing his scars, not yet. After everything Scorpius has been through that’s horribly selfish, but... not yet.

He pulls the top off and hurls it across the room, then he picks up a soft green button down shirt and puts that on instead. When he looks in the mirror he doesn’t look that much of a mess, but it does bring out his eyes, and his eyes bring out his hair. He looks more like his dad than he has done in a long time, and he’s not ready for that yet either.

Feeling sick with guilt and anger he goes to the bathroom. He slathers salve on his arms, just in case, then he downs a bottle of his potion and watches in the mirror as his eyes fade from bright green to muddy brown. He feels like a coward, but his chest is also a bit looser and he can breathe. On the way to the front door he grabs the only hat he owns, an old knitted hat in Slytherin green. Even though it’s the height of summer he jams it on his head and Apparates to Diagon Alley before he can have any second thoughts.

He lands by the bins at the back of the Leaky Cauldron and goes storming through the wall onto the street. It’s packed with people, and the second he sees them all he balks and flattens his back against the wall. He buries his face in his shaking hands and gulps in several deep breaths, trying to steady himself and remind himself that it’s okay. He’s in disguise. No one knows who he is.

“Are you okay sweetheart?” He feels a hand on his arm and looks up to see an older lady peering at him through her spectacles.

He nods quickly. “Yes. Y-yes. I-I am. Thank you. I’m just... I don’t like crowds much.”

“Where are you off to?” The lady asks. “I can come with you if you like.”

“Oh.” Albus smiles at her. “No. No, that’s okay. I’ll be alright. I don’t want to hold you up. I’ll just take my time, and...”

“Are you sure, dear?”

“Sure,” Albus says. “I promise.”

She pats his arm. “Alright then. Take it slowly. You’ll be okay. It’s quieter up past the bank.”

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you,” then he screws up his courage and sets off up the street.

He weaves his way through the crowds, keeping his head down. The hat is itchy in the heat, and there are already beads of sweat running down his forehead, but he can’t take it off. Whenever someone looks at him for too long he pulls it down lower, trying to make sure that none of his hair is poking out. He feels as though the whole world can see through his disguise. Everyone on this street knows his face, surely someone must have recognised him by now?

In his panic, he walks straight into a woman carrying an empty cage and several bags of shopping, and she drops the cage, which goes clattering onto the cobbles. He goes scrambling after it as it rolls, snatching it up and shoving it back at her.

“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“That’s al-“ She stops, staring at him. “Hang on. You look familiar. Are you-“

“I’m no one,” Albus says. “I assure you. I’m no one.”

He makes a run for it.

As he weaves through the crowd he glances back, and he can see the woman talking to another shopper, pointing after him. He feels sick. His breath starts to come in snatches, made even worse by the fact that he’s half running down the street now. His chest is so tight that he can’t get any air in. The world closes in and he knows the message is being passed down the street right now. Albus Severus Potter is here. He’s going to be found and he’s not ready. He’s not ready. He’s not ready.

A familiar bright orange shop looms up ahead. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. In his panicked brain it looks like a safe haven. Even though there are people he knows in there – James will probably be working today – he doesn’t care. Better James see him than the whole world catch him. He’d rather just be with his brother. He’s more ready for that than _everyone_. Maybe he can hide in there until the storm passes. At least until he can breathe again.

He stumbles up the steps and in through the door, where he leans against the wall for a moment and tries to calm down. It’s almost working but then someone tuts at him for blocking the exit and he apologises and goes reeling further into the shop, looking for somewhere to stand, somewhere quiet, anywhere.

The shop is full of people, and there are tables and stands everywhere. There’s no spare inch of wall where he can stand out of the way, so he weaves further into the shop, leaning on the tables for support.

He knows the Defence Against the Dark Arts section will be quiet, or the staffroom at the back. He’s been through there before, of course he has, he’s family. If he went in there now someone might try to stop him, but he could just tell them who he is. They might recognise him. Scorpius did. His mum did.

There are several people browsing the Dark Arts section when he passes through the curtain. One of them he recognises, and he thinks they might be an Auror. He doesn’t want to hang around anywhere there’s an Auror, so he ducks his head and rushes past, heading for the very back of the shop. He doesn’t pause when he gets there, he pushes aside the second curtain and goes rushing into the back room, where he finds his brother drinking a cup of tea and running through a stock report.

“You can’t come in here. This isn’t a-“ James looks up and freezes, eyes widening. “Fuck,” he breathes.

“James,” Albus gasps, hunching over, clutching his chest.

James sets his tea aside and drops the stock report on the floor. “Are you okay? You can’t come back and die on me.” He rushes across and takes hold of Albus’s arm, guiding him over to the chair.

“Not used... to all these people,” Albus manages.

James rubs his back. “Breathe, Albus. Breathing is good.” He hovers by Albus’s side, seeming very uncertain. “I can make tea. I’ll make tea. You... sit there and breathe.”

It’s such a James way of dealing with the situation that Albus almost bursts into tears on top of everything else. He just about manages to keep it together though, and in the quiet stillness of the back room he gets his breathing under control by the time the kettle has boiled.

“Have a drink,” James advises, pressing the mug into his hands.

“Thanks,” Albus whispers. He takes a sip and pulls a face. “It’s got sugar in.”

“Sugar is good for the soul,” James says, sitting down on the floor and staring up at Albus. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Albus takes a long drink of the tea and sets the mug down next to James’s. “I needed to find Scorpius.” He lifts his head and gets a proper look at his brother for the first time in seven years. There’s a cleanness to him that was never there before. He looks put together. He looks properly grown up, Albus realises. He’s clean shaven, his light brown hair is neatly cut, and his magenta robes are perfectly pressed. But despite it all, he’s still so James that it hurts: that sparkle in his eyes, alongside a new kindness that Albus has never seen before but that he normally associates with their mum.

“What’s Scorpius doing here?” James asks. “Scorpius doesn’t come to Diagon Alley apparently. Not if he can avoid it.”

“He had to go to Gringotts for work. Why doesn’t he come here?”

James looks at him. “How often do you read the papers?”

Albus swallows. “I-I read them this morning. That’s why I wanted to... I need to find him and say sorry. But there are so many people around, and I thought someone might have recognised me, and it all got a bit much...”

“So you came to hide here.” James nods. “Is that how seeing you works? You drop by when it suits you?” There’s a twist of bitterness in his voice that leaves Albus feeling like he’s been hit.

“I didn’t mean to-“ He swallows and stares at James. “I’m sorry.”

James picks up his stock report and gets to his feet. “I’m sure you are. But it’s been seven years, Albus. Sorry might not be enough after all this time.”

Albus stares at him, utterly stunned. “I don’t know what else to-“

“You don’t know what it was like without you,” James says, stopping and looking at him. “You have no idea. Mum was inconsolable for months, Albus. Dad never stopped looking for you. He hasn’t had a day off in years because he doesn’t want to miss a chance to find you. Lily cried herself to sleep every day after you left. Even though the rumours clearly aren’t true, Scorpius’s life is still in tatters. And here I am, trying to hold the whole mess together, and wishing I could re-say every single word I ever said to you, like it might make a difference, like you wouldn’t have been selfish enough to run off no matter what your life had been like.”

Albus opens his mouth to try and speak, but nothing comes out, so he just makes a strangled little noise and buries his face in his hands, not sure what he wants to do. He wants to cry. He wants to turn and run and never come back. He also desperately wants to hug his brother and drink his tea and keep hearing his voice, no matter how much the words feel like they’re wounding him.

James runs a hand through his hair. “It’s been really shit, Albus. Really really shit.”

“I know,” Albus says in a very small voice, not sure if that’s the right thing to say.

“If you weren’t my little brother I’d probably hex you right now,” James says. He slaps the stock report down on a nearby table and turns round in a circle. “But you are my little brother. So I’ll restrain myself until further notice.” He walks back to Albus and crouches down on the floor again. “Do you think they did spot you?”

Albus shakes his head. “I don’t know. I-I don’t... I hoped they might not have recognised me because of the disguise, but...”

James snorts. “What disguise?” He reaches up and tugs Albus’s bobble hat off. “Is that what you’re calling this ridiculous thing? It’s the middle of summer, Albus. How did you manage to hide for seven years?”

“I changed my eyes too,” Albus mutters.

“Oh,” James says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because that makes _all_ the difference.” He rolls his eyes. “If you wanted a real disguise you should have come to us.”

“Why would I have come to you?” Albus asks. “You’d have turned me in.”

James shrugs. “I’m not going to turn you in now. Maybe I wouldn’t have done it then, either. Here.” He gets to hide feet and crosses to one of the shelves, reaching into an open box and digging around inside. Eventually he pulls something out and tosses it across to Albus. “Chameleon Comb. For your hair. So you don’t have to boil to death under that hat. You’re welcome.”

Albus picks up the comb and examines it. “Thank you?”

James bows. “Least I can do for my little brother.”

“Your little brother who you hate,” Albus says softly, turning the comb over in his hands. “You don’t have to-“

“I do not hate you,” James protests, spinning round to look at him. “No. That’s utter slander. I love you. I’m also, I think justifiably, pissed off at you. That’s not the same as hatred.”

“Isn’t it?” Albus asks, picking his tea mug up and taking another sip.

“Not even a little bit,” James says. He leans against the shelf and folds his arms. “You’re a selfish git, but so was I, so I can’t exactly talk. I’m mad at you for how much you’ve hurt everyone, but given that you’re in here terrified because someone outside _might_ have seen you, I suspect that you’re also hurting. There’s far more to all this than meets the eye so there’s no point hating you. If you think I hate you then we’re right back at square one really, aren’t we?”

“I suppose so,” Albus says, a little bit stunned.

“Good, then there we go.” He pushes off the shelf and comes over to Albus. “Does Scorpius know you’re in here?”

Albus shakes his head. “We said we’d meet up but not where.”

James tuts. “You two are useless.”

“I saw the papers,” Albus says. “I saw what they’re saying about him. I need to find him and apologise, or... I don’t know what. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if I can. But I couldn’t wait.”

“So you’re still as reckless as you were the day you ran away then,” James says with a grin. He ruffles Albus’s hair. “Will you be alright going outside?”

“No idea,” Albus murmurs. “It’s terrifying. I don’t want everyone to know I’m here yet.”

“But Scorpius knows,” James says. “Mum knows. I know. Aren’t we the hardest people? Surely the world doesn’t matter.”

“They’ll call Dad,” Albus explains. “And that I’m really afraid of.”

“Dad was the reason you ran away in the first place,” James says, but Albus isn’t sure whether there’s a hint of a question in there too. No one knows even now exactly why he ran, no one apart from himself.

“It was mostly Dad,” he admits. “But it was school too. And I didn’t always get on with you, which didn’t help. It was a lot of things. A lot of not fitting in. I didn’t want to disappoint you all anymore.”

“So you ran away and broke our hearts instead,” James says, nodding.

“I thought I was doing you a favour,” Albus mutters, avoiding his gaze.

James snorts. “Has anyone explained to you what a favour is, Albus? It’s a nice thing you do for someone that you don’t ask any repayment for. It’s not disappearing for seven years and frightening the life out of them.”

“I didn’t realise that...” Albus sighs. “I thought you’d all be better off without me. I still think that a little bit.”

James shakes his head. “Albus...” He puts a hand on Albus’s arm and looks right at him. “It was difficult, I get that. You were unhappy, you were struggling. I didn’t see it at the time, but looking back it was glaringly obvious; I was just too oblivious to see it. But you could have talked about it instead. You had options. We’re your family. As hard as it may have been to see, we loved you. We still do. Desperately.”

“Talking is hard though,” Albus says. “Talking to Dad is hardest of all.”

“He never talked to you. He just sort of exploded at you.”

“Right.” Albus fiddles with his hat. “I still don’t know how to... It was easier to disappear than to keep trying and failing, as stupid as it sounds.”

“Nothing like a seven year disappearance to start a conversation,” James says lightly, and Albus smiles.

“It might have been a bit dramatic, but you know how I felt now, don’t you?”

James shrugs and digs his hands in his pockets. “You were desperately unhappy. You were lonely. You were lost. You were scared.”

“Most of it’s still true,” Albus murmurs. “Except now I feel guilty too. Very, very...”

“If it helps at all,” James says softly, squeezing his arm. “I forgive you. And I hope you’ll forgive me too.”

“What am I forgiving you for?” Albus asks, frowning.

“My part in all the bullshit that led to you running away,” James says simply.

“I do. Forgive you. Of course I do. I... I missed you so much.”

James ruffles his hair. “You too, little brother. You too.”

Albus isn’t quite sure who starts it, whether it’s him or James, but next thing he knows he’s hugging his brother tighter than he ever has before and it feels wonderful. It feels like something has fallen into place, and a little of his fear has melted away.

“I love you,” he mumbles into his brother’s shoulder.

“Everyone loves me,” James replies, but then he pushes Albus right to arms length and looks him in the eye. “I love you too. You may be a selfish little prick but you’re my selfish little prick.”

Albus smiles. “Thanks. I think.” He picks up his mug and drinks down the rest of his tea. “I-I think I should go and see if I can find Scorpius.”

“Can you handle it?” James asks. “Will you be okay out there?”

Albus shrugs. “No idea, but I can’t stay in here.” He gets to his feet. “Scorpius has been dealing with this for seven years. I think I can repay him by being terrified for a couple more minutes.”

“If it gets bad come back though,” James says, also getting up.

Albus nods. “Thank you. A-and... If you could avoid mentioning this to George and Ron, and particularly Dad, that would be amazing.”

James picks up the Chameleon Comb and starts attacking Albus’s hair with it. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Albus leaves the shop with bright pink hair. According to James, you can never tell what colour a Chameleon Comb is going to make it go, but Albus doesn’t believe him. He knows it’s payback, and he knows he deserves it, so he doesn’t argue about it too much, although he does threaten to hex James, who just sing-songs that pink hair is character building.

Albus jams the bobble hat back onto his head and heads up the street towards Gringotts. He’s not sure the disguise is any better now. Surely the pink is like a beacon and everyone’s more likely to notice him. But it seems to do the opposite. Fewer people look in his direction, and he guesses it’s because most members of the general public want nothing to do with a man who goes out on a summer day with pink hair and a bobble hat.

When he gets to the bank doors, Albus pauses on the step, staring up at the inscription there. Even though he’s not disguised because he wants to steal from the bank, the words still make Albus feel uneasy. Surely goblins can see through things like Chameleon Combs and basic colour change potions. Would they turn him in?

He’s still dithering when the door opens and a white blond someone wearing sky blue robes comes rushing out and walks straight into him.

“Scorpius!” Albus says, taking hold of his arms to steady him. “I was looking for you.”

Scorpius regains his balance and stumbles back a step, staring at Albus. “What are you doing here? Why are you wearing a bobble hat in the middle of summer? That’s really- Dumbledore, do you have pink hair?”

Albus pulls the hat down on his head. “I ran into James and he decided to help me with my disguise.”

Scorpius grins and takes hold of the bobble, plucking the hat off of Albus’s head. He blinks. “Okay, that’s _very_ pink.”

“My dear brother,” Albus sighs, trying to take the bobble hat back, but Scorpius holds it out of reach.

“No, I like the pink. And it’s far too hot for you to wear this.” He puts the hat in the pocket of his robes. “Did you say you saw James?”

Albus nods. “I thought someone recognised me,” He gestures down the street. “So I hid in Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and James happened to also be in my hiding place.”

“How is he?” Scorpius asks.

Albus looks down at his feet. “He’s really mad at me, and he called me a little prick, but he also said he loves me, so... I think it’s okay.”

Scorpius smiles. “That sounds good.” He rubs Albus’s arm, and Albus looks up at him, all the guilt flooding back as he takes in the brightness of Scorpius’s eyes, so full of hope and happiness despite everything.

“Scorpius,” Albus murmurs. “I... I read the paper this morning.”

Scorpius’s face falls. “Did you?”

Albus nods and licks his lips. “I... I did.”

“You shouldn’t believe anything you read in there,” Scorpius says, dropping his hands to his sides. “It’s trash. I mean some of the stories are alright, and obviously the Quidditch coverage is good. But they say a lot of things that you shouldn’t pay attention to, and-“

“Have they been saying that stuff about you all along?” Albus asks. “Have they been blaming you for me disappearing?”

Scorpius gives a tiny twitch of a shrug. “It comes and goes. I think it’s fashionable, sometimes, to say-“

“ _Scorpius_.” Albus stares up at him. He’s lit up by the sunlight, face glowing, hair a halo round his head. He looks beautiful but he also looks sad and defeated, like Albus knowing about all this has deflated him a bit.

“It’s okay,” Scorpius murmurs. “I was hoping you wouldn’t find out. You’ve got enough problems without...”

“But it’s my fault,” Albus says. “If I hadn’t run away, they wouldn’t have-“

Scorpius sighs. “There have always been rumours, Albus. Always. Ever since I was born people have thought the worst of me. Now they just have proof.”

“But it’s a lie!” Albus shouts. A couple of pigeons flutter up off the steps next to them, and a couple of people in the crowd nearby glance up at them, curious to know what the shouting is about. When they see Scorpius they do a double take, and he waves at them, wiggling his fingers. They shake their heads and hurry away.

“There is no proof,” Albus says, considerably quieter now. “I’m alive. It’s all made up. And you’re not the son of Voldemort or any of that crap. You’re the son of Draco and Astoria Malfoy.”

“Which is bad enough for most people,” Scorpius mutters.

“People are idiots,” Albus says. He reaches out to take Scorpius’s hand but thinks better of it. Scorpius is all hunched up right now, defensive, guarded, like he doesn’t want to be touched.

“What if people are right?” He asks.

“But they’re not,” Albus says. “You’re... you’re Scorpius. You’re good and kind and beautiful, and I don’t just mean physically, I mean your heart too. You shine. You’re the best person I know, and I wouldn’t be a fraction of the person I am without you in my life.”

Scorpius gestures to the street behind Albus. “All these people hate me, Albus. The entire country can’t be wrong.”

Albus looks over his shoulder, then turns all the way round to face the crowd. “They’ve been lied to,” he says. “All of them. They think they’re right because they don’t know the truth.” He glances back at Scorpius. “And the truth is that you’re incredible. You’re smart and talented and absolutely brilliant. Life has thrown as much shit at you as it can and you’re still you. You’re still shining.”

Albus’s heart is pounding in his chest. He’s standing up here on these steps in front of a crowded street. Anyone could see him, anyone could recognise him. There could be photos on the way to the Prophet right now, but he doesn’t care anymore. Faced with Scorpius, Scorpius who’s been tormented his whole life by stupid rumours and vitriol, none of it matters. Scorpius makes Albus feel a hundred times braver than he really is.

“Listen!” He shouts, raising his voice to address the entire street. “Hey, listen to me!”

People nearby look up at him, and Scorpius makes a tiny noise of panic.

“Albus!” He squeaks. “Albus, stop. What are you doing?”

“Clearing your name,” Albus says, grinning. He feels manic, as high on adrenaline as he does during a race. He’s buzzing, and he knows this is the right thing to do, even though it’s ridiculous and stupid. This is what he has to do.

“This is Scorpius Malfoy,” he yells, pointing at Scorpius. “Yes, that Scorpius. And he’s not the person you think he is. He’s not a murderer, or a kidnapper, or... or anything. He’s the best person I’ve ever met. He’s far too good for me, and far too good for all of you. Whatever you think of him... stop.” He glances back at Scorpius. “My name is Albus Severus Potter, and I’m telling you to stop.”

He faces the street again, looking at all the people now watching him, curious about the commotion. “I’m here. I’m alive. A-and I’m in love with this man. And if any of you had any sense then you’d love him too because he’s… He’s the best.”

“Albus,” Scorpius hisses, face bright pink, hiding behind his hands.

“Scorpius Malfoy is amazing, so leave him the fuck alone!” Albus’s voice rises at the end of the sentence, so it rings down the now silent street. For a moment there’s a stunned stillness, then utter chaos breaks out.

“It’s Albus Potter!”

“No it’s not. He’s some delusional freak.”

“But that _is_ Scorpius Malfoy.”

“The son of Voldemort!”

“Albus Potter!”

“Quick, someone get a picture.”

“Call the Prophet.”

“Call the Aurors!”

“What have you done?” Scorpius asks, rushing down the steps and grabbing Albus’s arm. “What was that?”

Albus shakes his head. “I don’t know! I wanted to- I don’t know, Scorpius.”

A flashbulb goes off, and they both turn to see a camera being waved above the crowd.

“Shit,” Albus mutters.

“We need to get out of here,” Scorpius says, seizing his hand. “Albus, come on.”

“Where are we going?” Albus asks.

“I don’t think it matters!” Scorpius says, squeezing both his hands. “We just need to go. They’re taking photos, they’re going to-“

“Someone grab him!”

A small group break free of the crowd and come storming up the steps towards them.

“I’m going to Apparate,” Scorpius yells, then he twists sideways, pulling Albus with him, and they turn into crushing darkness, then blinding sunshine.

Albus loses his balance when he lands and goes tumbling onto the ground, pulling Scorpius with him. They end up in a heap, lying on the sun-browned grass of a village green, the blue sky above them, and a pair of very surprised ducks waddling away towards their pond, flapping and quacking.

“What did you do?” Scorpius asks, scrambling upright and staring down at Albus. His cheeks are still red, and he looks flustered, his hair a mess and his robes askew. “What were you thinking?”

Albus sits up and shrugs. “I don’t know. I-I wanted to tell everyone... I don’t think I did think?”

“Clearly not!” Scorpius says, running a hand through his hair and turning around on the spot. “Albus everyone knows now. Someone got a photo of us. Of you. You’re going to be all over the paper. You- you’re such an idiot.”

Albus pulls his knees up to his chest and looks up at Scorpius. “Are you mad at me?”

Scorpius spreads his arms and makes a noise that sounds like an explosion of confusion, frustration, and a hundred other things. “Life with you is never going to be boring, is it?”

Albus rests his chin on his knees and shrugs. “I suppose not.”

Scorpius spins around again, then lets out a high-pitched, hysterical giggle. “Did you just tell the whole world that I’m brilliant and that you’re in love with me?”

Albus lifts his head and looks at him. “It’s a bit of a blur, but I think I might have done.”

Scorpius buries his face in his hands and makes a squeaking noise. “Dumbledore, I love it. I love you. I- You’re such an idiot.” Then he drops down onto his knees in front of Albus and kisses him hard.

It’s so unexpected that Albus makes a noise of surprise before managing to grip Scorpius’s shoulders and kiss back. When they part he falls back, catching himself with his hands stretched behind him, spreading his legs out across the straw-like, dried grass.

“Your hair’s still pink,” Scorpius says, sitting down between his legs. “You’re going to be in the paper declaring your love to me with pink hair.”

Something inside Albus bursts. The bubble of fear and anxiety that has been swelling in his heart not just this morning but over the whole week – over the last seven years – pops, and suddenly there’s so much space inside him, so much freedom. Everyone knows now. Everyone has seen him. There’s no hiding anymore. It’s over.

He starts to laugh. A tiny little giggle breaks out of him, but it builds quickly and he can’t stop it. Soon he’s properly laughing, his whole body shaking, and he can’t breathe. He falls back onto the grass and rolls onto his side, curling up into a foetal position and clutching his stomach as he howls.

And then Scorpius is laughing too, lips twitching first into a smile, then into a grin, until he’s doubled over, hands braced on his knees, cackling. Albus looks up to see tears streaming down Scorpius’s face, and that just makes him laugh harder. He crawls across the grass and pats Scorpius on the side, then collapses back onto the ground and covers his face with his hand as he laughs and laughs and laughs.

It takes a while for them to calm down, and when they do they stay there on the grass. They lie side by side in the middle of the village green, staring up at the jewel bright sky, fingers brushing together. There’s undoubtedly turmoil elsewhere, words being written, photos being printed, rumours flying, but here they’re alone with just the ducks for company, in a Muggle village, as far as they could possibly be from the wizarding world and its gossip.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Scorpius murmurs, turning his head to look at Albus.

Albus shakes his head. “Neither can I.”

Scorpius smiles. “You’ve got pink hair and brown eyes. No one’s going to believe you.”

“I don’t think I care,” Albus says, squeezing his hand.

Scorpius reaches across and brushes a finger down Albus’s cheek, then he leans in and kisses him. “I love you, you ridiculous pink-haired idiot with a death wish.”

Albus rests his forehead against Scorpius’s and closes his eyes. “I don’t deserve it, but I’ll never stop being grateful.”

Scorpius brushes his fingers through Albus’s bright pink hair, and they listen to a car rush down the road beside the green, the ducks quack and splash in the distance, and the stir of a breeze through the solitary oak tree.

“Where are we?” Albus asks finally. He sits up and looks around. “I’ve never been here before.”

Scorpius sits up too, brushing bits of dried grass out of his hair and off his robes. “Unless I’ve done an absolutely atrocious Apparition job, we should be in a place called Little Hangleton.”

“Okay,” Albus says. “And why are we in Little Hangleton?”

Scorpius gets to his feet and offers Albus a hand up. “Because this is where Delphi’s Gringotts account is registered. We’re going investigating.”

“This is where Delphi lives?” Albus asks, taking Scorpius’s hand and getting up. He looks around with more curiosity now. “But it’s so... it’s so Muggle. Anyway, why do we need to be in the place where Delphi’s bank account is registered? That makes it sound like we’re investigating her...”

Scorpius looks Albus dead in the eye. “We are.”

Albus frowns. “But Delphi’s not-“

Scorpius raises a hand to stop him. “Albus.”

Albus closes his mouth and looks at Scorpius, waiting.

Scorpius bows his head. “Look, I know she’s your best friend. If you don’t feel comfortable coming with me I understand. But I have to do this, Albus.”

Albus shuffles his feet on the ground and considers. “What exactly are you investigating her for?”

“I’ve been looking at the league’s financial records with my dad,” Scorpius says. “We found some weird names there. Lots of um... lots of names of former Death Eaters. So we looked for connections between them, and we found that they all led back to Delphi’s account. Delphini Black-“

“Black?” Albus asks, eyebrows raising. “I didn’t know that was her surname. I didn’t even know she _had_ a surname.” He digs his hands into his pockets. “And she’s a good person, she’s not a- you know. So why would she have all those accounts linked with her?”

Scorpius spreads his hands. “That’s what I’m here to find out.” He pulls a scrap of parchment from his pocket. “I went to Gringotts earlier to ask about the account. They said it’s not officially in Delphi’s name, it’s under the name Cygnus Black, but this is the address it’s registered to.” He holds the parchment out for Albus to read, and Albus squints at Scorpius’s scrawl.

“Hangleton House, Little Hangleton.” He looks at Scorpius. “So we’re going to find this Hangleton House?”

“And see what we can find out about Delphi, Cygnus, any of this.”

Albus considers for a couple of seconds, trying to decide whether he’s happy to help investigate Delphi. He’s hardly the least biased party, but now he’s here he finds that he’s curious. Delphi has always been very private, but so has he so he’s never questioned it, except he realises now that he’d like to know more about her. Seeing her home would be fascinating. And if he can help find evidence to clear her name of any connection with Death Eaters then he should.

“Alright,” he says, nodding. “I’ll come. Where is it?”

Scorpius points across the green, down the high street, and off towards an ornate set of gates just visible in the distance, set on a bend in the road. “I think it might be through there.”

The gate is padlocked when they reach it, the hinges rusted, curls of ivy clinging to the iron filigree. Scorpius glances around to check the coast is clear before he draws his wand and taps it on the padlock, which springs open. It takes a bit of force to finally get the gate open, but Albus eventually breaks past the rust and clinging leaves, and gestures for Scorpius to lead the way inside.

“It doesn’t look very inhabited,” Scorpius murmurs, as they set off up the overgrown driveway. “Does it?”

Albus shakes his head, looking around at the bright banks of rhododendron that are invading the path. Wild flowers grow in the centre of the dirt track, along with strangling, tangled weeds. The trees bow inwards, casting the drive into shadow.

“I don’t think anyone’s been here for a while,” Albus mutters.

“If they have then they aren’t very keen on gardening,” Scorpius says.

Albus smiles. “Delphi’s been away for a year. Could that explain all this?”

Scorpius shrugs and brushes a hand over the delicate petals of a wild rose bush. “Places like this are expensive to run. If you had enough money to live in a fancy manor, wouldn’t you make sure someone was taking care of the grounds for you while you were away?”

“Even I had a housekeeper,” Albus concedes.

“Exactly.”

They keep going up the drive until they round a corner and the trees to their right disappear, leaving a view down the valley. The high street is just away to the right, below them now. There’s a little church down there, and a tiny graveyard that spreads out beside the river. It’s a beautiful area, leafy and green, surrounded by soaring, forested hills.

“I can see why you’d want to live here though,” Albus says. “Look at that view. This would be an amazing place to go flying.”

Scorpius nudges him. “Is that all you think about these days?” He asks. “Flying?”

Albus nudges him back. “And you. Flying and you.”

Scorpius grins. “I like that answer.”

They turn away from the view and look at the house, which is towering over them now. There’s no word to describe it aside from derelict. It looks deserted. Some of the windows are smashed, the brickwork is crumbling, and there are tiles missing from the roof of one of the towers, which must have been blown down by a storm and never replaced. Climbing roses and ivy and honeysuckle are running rampant over the walls, even clambering in through the broken windows. What must once have been a grand manor house is now in a state of disrepair. It almost looks sad.

“I really hope Delphi doesn’t live here,” Albus says softly. “It doesn’t look safe...”

“This wasn’t what I was expecting,” Scorpius agrees. “It’s abandoned. I doubt we’ll find anything here.”

“We might.” Albus goes over to the front entrance, a big door covered with peeling black paint and a single tarnished golden door knob in the centre. The steps leading up to it are crumbling and weathered, but they don’t feel unsafe as Albus climbs them and tries the front door.

He’s barely touched the knob when the door swings inward.

“Scorpius,” he calls, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s open. Do you think we should go inside?”

Scorpius hesitates, then comes over and peers into the dark house. “I’m not sure... I know spells to make it safe, but... there’s probably nothing in there.”

Albus smirks at him. “Are you scared? It’s just a deserted house, Scorpius. There’s nothing in there that can hurt you. Just rats and ivy.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “Not... not scared. I don’t think. But it feels weird. It feels wrong.”

Albus stands very still, opening up all his senses, trying to work out what Scorpius means, but he gets nothing. It just smells a bit musty and looks a bit dark.

“I think it’s okay,” Albus says, glancing at him.

Scorpius purses his lips and twists his hands together. “I feel like we’re being watched. I don’t like it here.”

Albus smiles. “It’s all those rats.” He puts a hand on Scorpius’s arm. “Come on, we’ll stick together. Have a poke around and then go and get ice cream somewhere. There might be a place in the village.”

Scorpius inhales and pauses for a moment before nodding. “Okay. Okay. I’m probably just being stupid. Let’s go inside.”

They nudge the door further open and step into the cool shade of the entrance hall. Only now they’re inside does Albus understand what Scorpius had meant about the atmosphere. There’s something dark and depressing about this place, and his neck prickles as they move down the hall. He closes his hand round his wand in his pocket and glances over his shoulder to check that the doorway is clear, which it is.

Scorpius has his wand out completely and has lit it. He’s now waving it towards the ceiling, mouthing complicated spells that Albus hopes will shore up the crumbling plasterwork. The wand movements paired with the light make shadows dance back and forth across the ceiling, throwing different patches of the hall into complete blackness as Scorpius casts. It means that Albus can’t quite see what’s going on in all four corners of the hall at once, and that makes him nervous.

He draws his wand and casts Lumos for himself. When he holds his wand steady he can see the whole passage, and there’s nothing there. There’s only a dusty carpet, a painting on the wall of a family of three, and peeling paper on the walls.

Albus goes over to the painting and shines his wand at it. It’s definitely a Muggle painting because no one is moving. Everyone in it looks severe and serious, wearing clothes that he assumes must be from the 1930s. Judging by the amount of jewellery glittering round the necks of the lone woman, and the large watches on the mens’ wrists, they must be rich. It reminds him a little of the portraits he’s seen of Scorpius’s family, the hand of the father on the son’s shoulder while the mother stands nearby and looks suitably impressive and beautiful.

“Do you think they lived here?” Albus asks, gesturing to the painting.

Scorpius stops staring at the ceiling and glances at him. “Undoubtedly. Does it say who they are?”

Albus shakes his head. There’s a gold plaque beneath the painting where the names presumably should be, but it’s blank, like it’s been wiped clean somehow and the engraving erased.

“Strange for a Black family house to have a Muggle painting in it,” Scorpius says, frowning at the picture. “They’ve always been the purest of Purebloods on the whole...”

“Maybe this belonged to one of the ones that was less pure?” Albus suggests.

“Maybe.” Scorpius shrugs and directs his wand to the stairs. “Shall we go up? We can start in the bedrooms and then work down to the drawing room and whatever else is down here.”

Albus nods. “Good plan.”

The stairs creak as they climb. It’s brighter on the upper floor, thanks to a long crack in the roof that’s letting the sunlight stream through. Albus Noxes his wand but doesn’t put it away. Beside him, Scorpius is casting spells again, this time on both floor and ceiling.

Every step is cautious. Even with Scorpius’s spells in place, Albus doesn’t entirely trust the floor. He keeps a hand on the wall as he makes his way to the first room on the corridor and nudges the door open. The second he does, something starts flapping around inside, and Albus jumps back and closes it again, heart racing.

“Scorpius, there’s something in there.”

Scorpius lowers his wand and comes over to stand behind Albus. “What is it?”

“Well how am I supposed to know?” Albus whispers, high-pitched with the fear that’s been building ever since he got in here. “I heard noises.”

“Animal noises?” Scorpius asks.

”Flapping,” Albus says. “It’s probably a bird, but what if it’s not?”

Scorpius grips his wand tighter, looks Albus in the eye, then flings the door open.

Instantly a big black bird takes flight and starts flapping around the room, wings beating on the walls and ceiling. There’s a hole in the roof, but the bird doesn’t seem to be able to find its way through. It takes a minute for it to settle on the bed and glare at Albus and Scorpius with a beady black eye.

“It’s a crow,” Scorpius says, but Albus shakes his head.

“No. It’s an Augurey.” He steps into the room and moves slowly towards the bird. “Delphi thinks they’re fascinating,” he says. “I think they’re her favourite animal.” He crouches down at eye level with the Augurey, which blinks at him and then opens its beak. It emits a sharp, mournful cry that pierces Albus like a physical pain and brings tears to his eyes. Behind him he hears Scorpius gasp.

“What was that?” Scorpius asks, and Albus looks round to see him clutching his heart. “It hurt.”

“They cry,” Albus says. “People used to believe it was when they could sense death, but...”

Scorpius swallows. “But?”

“But it’s just rain. They know when it’s going to rain.” Albus reaches out a hand towards the Augurey, which blinks at him again, then takes flight, fluttering straight up and disappearing through the hole in the roof, leaving the two of them alone.

Scorpius exhales in a shaky stream. “I don’t think I like Augureys.”

“They’re interesting,” Albus says, staring upwards at the hole. “I think they’re misunderstood, a bit like us really... I’ve never actually met one in person before.”

“Well I’m glad you’ve had an educational experience,” Scorpius says. “Can we please go now? There’s nothing in here, Albus.”

Albus looks around the room and realises he’s right. Aside from the bed and an empty wardrobe with one door hanging off it’s hinges the room is completely bare. If they’re going to find anything interesting in this house, it won’t be in here.

“Okay,” he says. “Why don’t we split up? You check the rooms on this side of the corridor; I’ll do the other side. That way we’ll be done quicker and we can leave.”

Scorpius hesitates. He looks torn between the desire to stay together and the desire to leave sooner. But after a moment of indecision, he nods. “Alright. Maybe we can check in after every room? Just in case. And call me if you find anything.”

Albus nods. “I promise.”

They go back into the corridor and face their respective doors, side by side. Albus’s heart is racing, all his senses are on edge. Every creak of the floorboards makes him jump, and every few seconds he glances at the stairs, just to double check that no one is standing there watching them.

“Ready?” Albus whispers, trying to inject a confidence he doesn’t feel into his voice.

“No,” Scorpius replies.

Albus gives him a shaky smile and squeezes his hand. “Good luck. See you in a minute.”

He releases Scorpius and strides forward, throwing the door open in one go because he knows that if he doesn’t he’ll never get it open. He holds his wand ahead of him as he storms into the room, but there’s no one and nothing in there. It’s a bathroom, with a porcelain, gold-footed tub, a toilet, and a sink. The mirror on the wall is cracked, and when Albus looks in it he sees a kaleidoscope of his own pink-haired, brown-eyed self staring back at him. He also notices a door in the wall behind him, which presumably leads through to the next room, so he turns and shoves it open before he has the chance to lose heart.

The next room is another bedroom, much bigger than the one with the Augurey in it, but covered with ivy, which has grown in through a broken window. There’s a four poster bed with tendrils growing up three of the posts, and a blanket of leaves for a bedspread. It must have been untouched for years, and as Albus picks his way across the overgrown floor, a pair of mice run skittering to their hole and disappear.

“Nothing yet,” Albus calls, as he steps back onto the landing.

“I’ve got some papers,” Scorpius replies. “I’ll be a minute, you keep going.”

“Delphi’s papers?” Albus asks, stepping towards the door Scorpius is behind.

“Not sure. They’ve got really weird writing on them – runes but not ones I’ve seen before. I’m making some copies.”

“Alright,” Albus says. “I’ll be in the next room if you need me.”

He goes through the next door with considerably less fear. They’ve found nothing besides a bird and some mice so far. There’s nothing to fear in this mundane, Muggle house. It may be ruined but there’s nothing lurking in the shadows, and the next room just proves it.

It’s yet another bedroom, grand and still intact. There’s no ivy in here, and the wallpaper is surprisingly well preserved, especially given the state of the other rooms so far. There’s a photo on the dresser of a handsome young man wearing gear for some sort of Muggle sport that Albus doesn’t recognise. He’s all in white, leaning on a chunky wooden bat and grinning. This must be who the room once belonged to.

There are papers on the floor by the dresser, and Albus goes over and scoops them up, then perches on the end of the bed to read them, sending up a cloud of dust as he sits down. Most of them are letters, all addressed to ‘Tom’. Some are love letters, and Albus skips those after a couple of lines, pulling a face at the flowery attempt at poetry. There’s one thank you letter for a birthday present, a couple from someone who seems to be a friend of Tom’s, discussing everything from politics to girls, and there’s another very brief invitation to a dinner party. None of it seems to relate to Delphi at all, so Albus puts them on top of the dresser next to the photo and is about to start going through the drawers when something in a corner of the room catches his eye.

He looks up and sees a large snakeskin coiled there, pale, glittering in the dappled light filtering through the overgrown window. Frowning, he goes over to it and crouches down to take a closer look. It must be old because it’s fragmented, whole sections of it decayed into dust, but some strips of scales remain, and he reaches out to touch them. They’re so smooth, and so fragile. Parts of the skin break up even under the lightest brush of fingers, so he withdraws his hand and sits on his heels.

Why would there be a snakeskin here? Especially such a large one. There are wild snakes in Britain, but not ones this big, not native ones. It makes no sense.

He coughs as dust creeps into his lungs, and gets to his feet. There’s no point getting distracted by a snakeskin. The creature is probably long dead anyway. If the skin is decomposing like that it must have been there for years, and there are still mice alive in this house. If Albus were a mouse and there was a snake that big around, he wouldn’t be living here.

He crosses back to the dresser, ready to search it, but this time he stops when he sees a strange flickering light coming from under the door. Bright orange. Dancing. The same light that’s cast across a pitch when they race.

He coughs again, and it suddenly occurs to him that it’s not dust filtering into his lungs, it’s smoke. Bitter, acrid smoke. He can smell burning, and he fans himself as he realises how hot it is in here. And then he hears it, the crackle of flames, and the gentle, familiar, menacing hiss that suggests not just fire, but Fiendfyre.

Albus reels away from the door, raising his wand as he rushes to the window. It’s fine. No need to panic. He can jump. He’ll cast a Cushioning Charm and jump. He’s safe.

He gulps in a breath as the hissing fills his ears from beyond the door and fear grips him. He knows it’s his imagination, but he can almost feel the heat prickling on his arms, awakening the burns. He needs to get out. He can get out. He’s okay.

“Bombarda,” he says, pointing his wand at the window.

He expects the window to shatter, but his hand shakes as he casts the spell and the whole wall comes tumbling down, the roof sagging above it, creaking and cracking. If he doesn’t get out now the ceiling will collapse, and that’s the last thing he needs, to be trapped next door to raging Fiendfyre.

He rushes to the window and braces himself to jump, but then he remembers. In his panic he’d forgotten that he didn’t come here alone. Scorpius is somewhere on the other side of the house, and Albus can’t leave him. He has to know that Scorpius is safe.

Everything in him screams at him to jump, but he doesn’t. He turns back towards the door, and the orange, dancing light.

In his whole life he’s never done anything this stupid, but he has to get to Scorpius. He has to make sure Scorpius knows about the fire and that he’s getting out. If he Apparates across the hall he can avoid the fire he knows is there at least. He might also be Apparating into a furnace, but it’s better than running out in the blaze that he can feel is right outside the door.

He closes his eyes, turns on the spot, and falls sideways onto the bed as he loses balance. When he opens his eyes he sees that he’s in the same room with the snake skin in the corner and the photo on the dresser, so he scrambles to his feet and tries again. Nothing happens. One final attempt gets him nowhere, and although it might just be his shoddy magic, he can tell that there’s no Apparating out of this. It must be blocked here. Which makes perfect sense because Fiendfyre doesn’t just happen. It’s never an accident. It’s powerful dark magic, so someone has set the fire and made sure they can’t Apparate. Someone must want to kill them.

“Scorpius!” Albus shouts as a last alternative. “Scorpius, can you hear me?”

Nothing but crackling and hissing beyond the door.

“SCORPIUS!” He screams at the top of his lungs.

Still nothing.

There’s no other option. Albus has to go to him.

Throwing all his caution and self-preservation out of the window, Albus crouches down low to the floor, draws in a deep breath, and flings the bedroom door open.


	9. Ruins

_The whole world is a blur of agony. There’s nothing beyond this awful, all-consuming pain. The heat of it is burning him up from the inside out. It’s eating through flesh and muscle, destroying him like he’s nothing._

_He’s food. He’s fuel. He’s coal or wood or oil. He’s not human anymore. He’s part of the fire, and he’s disintegrating into ash._

_Darkness goes on forever. The darkness of smoke. The darkness of charring. The darkness of cinders blown on the wind._

_Albus is scattered. His fragments are swept away, swirling, tossed by breeze and wave. They’ll never come together again. They can’t. He’s been thrown too far asunder. He’s been broken down too small. The grains of him can’t ever possibly be knitted back into one. Too many particles have been lost._

_He comes to for a second and the pain of existence casts him back into darkness again._

_He sleeps. Rest heals._

_Something cool is being pressed against his skin, and he gasps with the relief of it, body contorting. A steady hand pushes him down and holds him. A voice in his ear whispers him back to sleep._

_Screams tear from his throat. He sits up, head spinning, his whole body fractured and shattered. He’s never felt pain like this before and he never wants to again. He’d rather die._

_“Kill me,” he sobs. “Please, kill me. Make it stop, make it stop, MAKE IT STOP!”_

_He screams again and cries, begging for it all to end, but someone holds him. Someone he loves, someone he trusts. Someone with gentle hands who promises him a better future._

_“Sshh, Albus,” she murmurs, stroking his hair. “It’ll stop soon. The pain will stop. I promise.”_

_His arm goes numb. The pain subsides. He cries so hard with relief that he’s sick, acid stinging his throat, making his mouth taste foul. She tuts but she cleans him up and lies him down, stroking his hair off his forehead._

_“Go to sleep,” she says. “Go to sleep.”_

_He obeys without question._

_Next time he wakes his mouth is dry. His whole body is dry. The ravaging fire has left him a shrivelled husk, no better than tinder, ready to set light again at the first spark._

_“Water,” he croaks. “Please.”_

_“Here,” Delphi says, helping him sit up and drink. He doesn’t stop until he’s drained a whole bottle and feels like he’s going to burst. If he could drink more he would. There’s nothing he wants more in the world right now than water._

_He still feels dry and hot, parched like the desert. He can’t sleep so he tosses and turns, skin prickling. Sometimes it’s bearable, but sometimes it flares up in excruciating agony that makes him scream and cry and vomit._

_The sheets cling to him, too heavy and hot on his skin. Everything hurts. Whenever he can he drinks as much as he can hold. Slowly he starts to feel replenished. The fire still burns inside him, but it’s held at bay by the water and whatever magic Delphi is working on his skin._

_“What happened to me?” He asks one morning when he’s sitting up in bed, watching her change his bandages. Under the soft, snowy white material he gets a glimpse of his arm. The skin is cracked, like the bark of a tree that’s aflame. Beneath the surface his arm is glowing, orange and white, flickering and dancing lights. The fire is still there under his skin, and it looks awful. No wonder it’s been hurting so much. No wonder it’s still hurting._

_“Someone pushed you,” Delphi says. “You lost control and hit one of the cages. You then fell about 100 feet out of the air, but I’d say that’s the least of your problems.”_

_“It’s really bad,” Albus says, watching as she ties the bandage off._

_“You almost died,” Delphi replies without looking at him._

_“You saved my life,” Albus says, looking at her. “Didn’t you? Someone’s been here this whole time. It was you.”_

_“Nearly two weeks.” She goes and sits on the chair beside the bed. “You’ve been half dead for nearly two weeks. This is the first time you’ve said anything that wasn’t begging me to kill you or begging me for water.”_

_Albus bows his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t really remember...”_

_“I’m not a Healer,” Delphi says. “I hope you know that.”_

_“I do, of course I do.” He looks at her. “Thank you. For staying. For saving me. Thank you.”_

_She shakes her head. “Don’t bother. You’re my best friend. I had to do it.”_

_Albus shakes his head. “I don’t know. You could have decided I wasn’t worth it.”_

_Delphi sighs. “I could. But I think you are worth it, Sev. You’re very important.” She smiles. “Anyway, I couldn’t have lost my star racer, could I?”_

_Albus smiles back. “No. I suppose not.”_

Flames lick across the ceiling and creep along the walls. The hallway is almost too hot to bear, and the thick, black smoke clogs the space, making it almost impossible to see. Albus doesn’t crawl, there’s no point, the fire would catch him before he got anywhere, and his crouch isn’t quite low enough to duck under the smoke, so he presses his arm across his mouth and sprints for the room Scorpius was in.

Behind him he hears the hiss of the fire build into a roar as it spots him. The red glow gets brighter as a thousand malevolent eyes focus on him, and he feels the smoke coalesce and tear at his skin like claws, snatching at him, trying to drag him back.

It takes all his strength to break free and keep running. He has no desire to let the fire get anywhere near him, even though he knows the beasts among the flames are already charging him down. He keeps his head low and throws himself sideways, hoping he’s hit Scorpius’s door and that it’ll open inwards.

His right shoulder slams into the door frame and he reels off, clutching his arm as pain jars through it. The hall is too smokey to see where he’s aiming, so he tries again, and this time he goes tumbling into a room and kicks the door closed behind him, casting the only spell he knows to barricade it and praying it doesn’t fail.

He scrambles up and looks around the room. Spells will buy him very little time here. The beasts are unstoppable. Fiendfyre is so hungry it’ll eat anything and everything. A door is nothing more than a light snack. But at least the fire can’t see him anymore. It won’t hunt him.

“Scorpius,” he calls, coughing and staring around the large library he’s found himself in. There’s no reply, so he runs across the room, lighting his wand and pointing it into every shadowy corner just in case, but he sees nothing.

He spins round and spots a door on the wall, which must lead through to an adjacent room. Maybe Scorpius is in there. Hopefully he is.

Albus sprints at it as hard as he can, but bounces off and falls in a heap on the floor, shoulder aching even more than before. It’s locked.

He fumbles with his wand and jabs it in the direction of the door. “Alohomora.”

The door springs open and he rushes to his feet and almost trips himself up as he races through.

“Scorpius! Scorpius, are you in here? Are you alive?” He stops dead in the middle of the small, dimly lit room. Papers litter the floor and ivy has grown over all the windows and the hole in the roof, so the only light comes from sporadic shafts of sunlight that pierce through the covering of leaves. This is definitely the room Scorpius was in, but Scorpius is nowhere to be seen, and now Albus can feel his chest tightening and his heart racing. What if the person who started the fire has taken Scorpius? What if Scorpius is gone? What if Scorpius is dead? What if-

No. Albus forces himself to take a deep breath. No. That can’t happen. That’s impossible. Scorpius is just- He’s somewhere. He’s fine.

“Scorpius?” He calls, turning slowly around in a circle, wondering if Scorpius is under the bed or in the rickety wardrobe, or-

There’s a bookshelf on a wall set just in from the window, with one single book on it, lying down on its spine, and the shelf has swung forward an inch, on a hinge. Some sort of secret door.

Albus tiptoes across to the shelf and swings it open, pointing his wand into the darkness. “Scorpius?”

“Albus.” A second silvery light glows out of the darkness, and Scorpius peers round the corner of a set of stairs up at him, holding his wand up, eyes glittering. “I found a secret room.”

Albus leans back against the wall, a hand pressed to his heart as relief floods through him, almost knocking his knees out from beneath him. “Yes, I-I can see that.”

Scorpius grins. “Want to come exploring? I’m guessing you didn’t find anything on the other side of the house, so this is the best we’ve got.”

“No, I- No. Scorpius, we need to get out of here.”

Scorpius frowns. “Get out of here? But... why? This could be a lead, Albus.”

Albus shakes his head desperately. “No. I know. But-“ He breaks off as he hears the hissing sound of the fire approaching. It must have reached the library now. How long until it consumes the hall and the stairs and this room? “Scorpius, the house is on fire. We need to get out.”

Scorpius stops dead, staring at him. “It- What?”

Albus nods. “Fiendfyre, Scorpius. Someone- someone set a fire. We need to get out. Right now. Or we’re going to die. Please.”

Scorpius clatters up the stairs until he’s at Albus’s level. “Did you say Fiendfyre?”

Albus grabs hold of his wrist. “Yes I did. We need to go. We need to-“

A flame snakes up the door behind him, a bright, hungry red. Tongues and sparks flicker out, like a serpent tasting the air, and Albus doesn’t hesitate. He starts running, tugging Scorpius with him.

“Run!”

Scorpius doesn’t need telling twice. He stumbles after Albus, raising his wand and casting a spell that Albus doesn’t know. In the next second, Albus’s vision is blurred by a silvery something, that runs in front of his eyes and folds around his head, making the air instantly more stale, but cutting out the smoke that’s starting to flood the room.

“What-“ Albus starts, but he stops when his voice sounds strange to his own ears. It’s like he’s speaking inside a bubble, and when he reaches up he does indeed feel a warm dome of magic around his head. “Scorpius, what is this?”

“Bubble Head Charm,” comes Scorpius’s muffled reply. “For the smoke.”

“Right,” Albus says, nodding. “Of course. You’re a-“

The door behind them explodes inwards with a snarling roar, and Albus feels heat scorch his back. His left shoulder instantly starts throbbing, and he clutches it and staggers towards the door to the hall, Scorpius right behind him.

The beasts in the flames have definitely found them now. The hunt is on. As Albus throws the door open a long flare comes whipping out of the maelstrom of fire, and he drops to the ground and rolls beneath it, just in time. He smells burning and reaches up to feel that it’s singed his hair.

He dives through, and Scorpius lunges after him, kicking the door shut, but the flames punch straight through, blasting it inwards. A bit of wood clouts Albus hard on the back of the head and he stumbles against the opposite wall of the landing in a daze. The world spins around him. Floor and flame and crumbling roof become one, and he grips the wall for support, not sure whether he’s up or down.

He stays still a second too long. A roaring Basilisk flies at him from the flames, teeth bared, mouth open. Still not sure if his feet are on the ground he stares, unable to move, resigned to fate, but an instant before the Basilisk strikes Scorpius’s hand clasps around his wrist and pulls him away hard. He almost yanks Albus’s arm out of its socket, and Albus falls, sprawling onto the ground, now with both his arms aching as well as his head throbbing and spinning.

“Up,” Scorpius says. “Lean on me. Quick.”

Albus feels Scorpius slip an arm round his torso and drag him upright. So that’s where the floor is. His feet are on it. His head is up, pointing to the ceiling. Fire is at his back, roaring with searing heat. The world starts to make sense again, and he trusts Scorpius implicitly. When Scorpius starts dragging him forward he obligingly moves his feet, trying to keep up.

They reach the stairs and start sprinting downwards, so fast they’re on the edge of falling. Beneath them the wood starts to creak and crack as it heats up. The steps glow, and Scorpius runs faster, Albus somehow keeping pace. It’s so hot that the soles of Albus’s shoes start to melt, and the bottoms of his feet feel like they’re being scorched.

The fire is so close behind them now that it’s licking and clawing at Albus’s back. His shoulder feels like it’s on fire, responding to the proximity of the flames the way it always does. Embers burn beneath his skin, awakening the creatures hibernating there. He clutches at it, digging his fingernails in to try and keep it at bay. He can collapse when he gets out of here. He can give in to the pain when Scorpius is safe. Until then, he has to keep running.

There are five steps left to climb down, but two of them are aflame already. The face of a dragon rises up, spitting at them, smoke curling from its nostrils. They’re hemmed in from both sides, but Scorpius isn’t deterred.

“Jump!” He yells, and Albus does, throwing himself straight into the dragon’s maw and past onto the lower floor. His legs collapse beneath him as he lands, but he manages to roll back to his feet and keep going.

The door is up ahead. Sunlight beyond the smoke and flames now consuming the ceiling.

An enormous beam drops from the ceiling into their path, and they both skitter back, grabbing each other’s hands. Behind them the roaring grows ever louder and ever closer.

“What do we-“ Albus starts, breath coming in tight snatches.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” Scorpius cries, and the burning beam goes shooting upwards. Scorpius sprints forward, dragging Albus with him, and they half run, half stumble the rest of the way down the hall and out through the door, serpents and beasts snapping at their heels.

They don’t stop running until they’re well away from the house. Thankfully the ground is bare and acts as a firebreak. The Fiendfyre stops at the bottom of the stairs, tongues of flame scenting the air, tendrils searching for a way forward, but there’s nothing. The red eyes of the beasts stare into Albus’s soul as he collapses on the ground, the bubble around his head bursting so he can draw in great lungfuls of clean, fresh air.

Scorpius is on the ground next to him, flat on his back, staring up at the sky, also breathing hard. Albus reaches across and squeezes hold of his hand, not letting it go as he hauls himself up on his elbows to watch as the Fiendfyre consumes the ruined manor.

As they lie there, side by side on the ground, singed and charred round the edges, clothes blackened with soot, it starts to rain. A gentle drizzle at first, which builds into the sort of torrential downpour the world needs to unleash after days of hot, humid weather. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and steam rises from the burning wreckage, but even water can’t stop a raging Fiendfyre. It gorges itself until the house is nothing but a charred, smoking wreckage, and there’s nothing left to feed on.

“That stuff,” Scorpius says finally, pushing his soaking wet hair out of his eyes, “is vicious.”

“Tell me about it,” mutters Albus, who’s still holding his aching left arm. “It really bloody hurts.”

Scorpius looks sharply at him. “Did it get you?”

Albus shakes his head. “My hair’s a bit singed, and my clothes probably aren’t great. No, this is the old burn. It gets excited when it encounters friends,” He rolls his eyes and removes his hand, screwing his face up against the pain. “It just needs some of that salve and it’ll be fine.”

“Will it?” Scorpius asks, eyeing him.

Albus nods. “Promise. Are you okay?”

“Unscathed,” Scorpius says. “Just about. You’re bleeding too. You definitely got the worst of it. Come here.” He kneels opposite Albus on the dusty ground, which is slowly turning to mud as the rain pounds down on them, and casts a spell to knit up the gash caused by the exploding door. “Better.”

Albus grimaces and rubs his head. “Thanks.”

Scorpius tucks his wand away and sits back on his heels. “Albus.” His expression is very grim, and Albus looks at him, no idea what he’s about to say next. “I think someone just tried to kill us.”

Albus bows his head. “I think so too. But why?”

Scorpius sighs and unfolds his legs from beneath him, falling back onto his bum on the muddy ground. “Why do you think?”

“Someone from the league,” Albus murmurs. “Who doesn’t want us investigating?”

Scorpius shrugs. “Probably. I was thinking someone who specifically doesn’t want us investigating Delphi.”

Albus frowns. “But...”

“Albus.” Scorpius gives him a significant look, and Albus snaps his mouth shut, not sure what he can say.

Just because they were in Delphi’s house doesn’t mean it _has_ to be connected to her. Albus doesn’t even know anyone who’d want to attack them on Delphi’s behalf. But of course it’s the most obvious explanation. Even he can’t deny that.

“I think we should go and report this,” Scorpius says. “Right away. Fiendfyre is dangerous dark magic, and someone just used it to try and kill us. After the Dementors... This is twice we’ve been attacked in a couple of days.”

“It is,” Albus murmurs, “isn’t it...”

Scorpius nods grimly. “I’m going to go. If you want to head home and sort your arm out you should.”

“No,” Albus says, clambering to his feet. “It’s fine. I’ll come.”

Scorpius frowns at him. “Are you sure?”

“We were both attacked,” Albus says. “We should both go.”

“But...” Scorpius gets up and looks him in the eye. “Albus, when I say I’m going to report this...”

Albus glances at the smouldering ruin, then back at Scorpius. “I want to come.”

Scorpius hesitates for several long seconds, and Albus doesn’t quite understand why. Maybe he’s missing something here. It’s like Scorpius is waiting for him to comprehend something and react to it. Should he be saying no? Does Scorpius want him to go home?

“I don’t have to come,” Albus murmurs. “If you don’t want me to.”

“I want you to,” Scorpius says, reaching out to take his hand. “But I didn’t know if you were ready to, you know...”

And then Albus understands. It hits him as hard as the fragment of wood exploding from the door had done, leaving him dazed, and wondering how he hadn’t realised it sooner.

Of course Scorpius wants to report this straight to Harry. Of course he does. He’s giving Albus the chance to back out. To run away and go home.

But this isn’t a day for running away. Earlier Albus had stood on the steps outside Gringotts and yelled his love for Scorpius to the whole world. Now he’s going to go and confront his dad too. No more running, no more hiding. It’s time to stand by Scorpius’s side and stop being the coward he’s been his entire life.

“I’m not,” he says. “Ready. But I’m coming anyway.” He grips Scorpius’s hand tight. “Let’s go before I change my mind.” He turns on the spot, bringing Scorpius with him, and a second later they’re standing in a deserted street beside a red telephone box. The Ministry of Magic.

Harry’s desk is a mess as always, but this morning it’s not covered in files, it’s covered in photos, statements, a draft copy of a newspaper report, and everything else he’s been able to gather from the incident in Diagon Alley this morning. The photo snapped by the Prophet reporter who’d rushed out into the street when he’d heard the commotion takes pride of place. Albus’s hair may be a light shade of grey in the black and white photo, and his eyes may be almost black, but it’s Albus. Unmistakeably. Harry knows his own son.

Albus shouts something, then turns and looks at Scorpius, who’s standing on the steps behind him, a look of sheer panic on his face. The Albus in the photo gazes at Scorpius for a moment, then turns back to the camera and keeps going, pointing at Scorpius, a fire in his eyes that can only belong to Albus. It’s Harry’s favourite bit of the photo, and he stares at it, taking in every detail of Albus’s face, the blazing passion written across every inch of him. He looks more beautiful than Harry has spent every second of the last seven years imagining. He’s perfect. And now Harry needs to see him more than ever. It’s the only thing he needs, and he needs it with every fibre of his being.

He pushes the photo out of the way so he can look at the other things on the table. There’s a statement from a pair of witches at the front of the crowd who’d been close enough to hear and see everything, and he scours it, looking for anything that might tell him where Albus and Scorpius have gone now, because they’re together, there’s no doubt about that.

He picks the statement up and sits at his desk, reading the end of it over and over again. It says they were talking about Apparating, saying they had to get out of there.

‘I didn’t hear them say where they were going, but Malfoy was talking about getting out of there. He warned him, Albus, that he was going to Apparate, and then they disappeared. I don’t think he told Albus where he was going... I still think he’s got Albus bewitched. It’s the only thing that makes sense. The way Albus looked at him... Maybe it’s a Love Potion.’

Harry sighs and rubs his forehead. No one knows where they went. Not a single one of the witnesses. Maybe they just didn’t say. But he refuses to believe that they’ve disappeared again. They were right there, right within reach. They were in Diagon Alley. Albus was in the middle of the biggest wizarding shopping street in the country and they still don’t have him and now he’s vanished. Vanished!

Harry slaps his hand as hard as he can on the desk in frustration. It doesn’t help. Now his palm stings and he feels even worse.

In seven years, this is the closest he’s been to getting his son back, but still he has nothing. It’s horrible. It’s like being back in the days after Albus ran away, when every new dawn brought with it the tantalising hope that today might be the day. And now today might really have been the day but they’ve let Albus slip through their fingers. Again. He removes his glasses, buries his face in his hands, and draws in a deep breath.

If they’ve got this close once they can do it again. The Aurors had arrived just moments after Albus and Scorpius had Disapparated. They only need to be a little bit quicker off the mark and they’ll have him. It’s that simple. They’re so close. No giving up now. No giving up ever.

“Mr Potter.”

He looks up to see his secretary, Edna, standing in the doorway. Her eyes are wide and she’s breathless, a hand clutching her heart. She looks like she’s seen a ghost.

“Yes?”

“There are- there are some people here to see you.”

Harry sighs. “Can it wait? I’m a bit-“ He gestures to his desk. “Busy.”

She shakes her head. “You really want to talk to these two.”

Harry frowns and picks his glasses up. “Have they seen Albus? Do they know something?”

Her expression transforms into a beaming smile and she shakes her head. “No. Even better.” She turns to the people behind her. “Go in. He’ll see you.”

There’s a bit of shuffling in the doorway as Edna disappears and the door opens wider. Two blurry figures appear, one with white blond hair; the other bright pink. Harry jams his glasses onto his face and gets to his feet, staring.

Scorpius, wet hair plastered to his head, robes dripping, meets Harry’s eyes as he enters the room, then he glances back. For a second Harry doesn’t believe what he’s seeing, but there’s no question that right behind Scorpius, one arm folded across his body, shoulders tight, gaze determinedly fixed on the floor, soaked to the skin, but whole and solid and very much alive; definitely not an illusion, is-

“Albus,” Harry breathes.

Albus’s eyes flicker up from the ground for a moment – a dark, impenetrable brown, but definitely Albus’s gaze because it’s hard and strong and crackling with fight. He gives a tiny nod but doesn’t speak, and his gaze instantly drops back to the ground.

Harry can’t breathe. He can’t speak. He collapses into the seat behind his desk and braces his forearms on the tabletop, staring at Albus. It’s impossible to take in every detail of his son in just a few seconds, but Harry wants to see as much as he can.

Albus is still so small. He’s compact, athletic in the way a broom racer should be, in the way his mum is, and next to Scorpius he looks as tiny as he ever did. He also seems afraid.

For all the defiant solidity of his presence, he doesn’t look comfortable here. He’s refusing to look at Harry not because he’s being difficult but because he’s scared. Harry’s first instinct is to reassure him, to reach out and let him know that it’s okay. But then it occurs to him that Albus probably doesn’t want his reassurance. After all this time, after all these years in which Albus has grown up, Harry has lost all his power as a dad to make everything okay just by saying it is. So he ignores the problem and turns to Scorpius, who is holding tight to Albus’s hand and doesn’t look like he’s planning to let go any time soon.

“Scorpius,” he says. “Why are you both so wet?”

“It’s finally raining,” Scorpius says with a little smile that fades as fast as it comes.

“Right. How, um-“ He pushes his glasses up his nose and glances at Albus again because he can’t help himself. “How can I help you both?”

Scorpius looks at Albus, who looks back at him.

“Go on,” Albus murmurs, and Harry’s heart skips a beat. That’s his son’s voice, a voice he hasn’t heard in so long. Even that fleeting whisper is the sweetest music Harry’s ever heard.

Scorpius nods and squeezes Albus’s hand. He turns back to Harry and opens his mouth, hesitating like he’s trying to work out the right place to start.

“Last night my dad and I managed to trace those suspect accounts back to one belonging to Delphini Black, so I went to the bank earlier to try and find out more,” he says, and gaze flickers to the papers littering Harry’s desk. “You might have already heard... But anyway. I found out that Delphi’s account wasn’t registered to her name, it belongs to a Cygnus Black, and I found out the address it’s registered to. So after...” he gestures to the papers. “After all that, we Apparated to the address and had a look around.”

He pulls something from his pocket and steps forward just far enough to drop the paper on the edge of Harry’s desk. Not once does he let go of Albus’s hand.

“I found this,” he says. “It was in one of the rooms. It was the closest I got to a clue. There was also a sort of secret room, but I didn’t get chance to investigate it.”

Harry frowns. “Did you leave? We can go back. I could send Aurors, or-“

Scorpius shakes his head and glances at Albus. “We can’t go back. No one can.” He takes a deep breath, and Albus steps an inch closer to him, so their arms are pressed together. “While we were inside someone set light to the house. I say someone because it was Fiendfyre. We both know it was. The house is destroyed, and we only just managed to escape.” He looks at Harry. “We think someone tried to kill us.”

Harry sits back in his chair, watching Albus, who’s looking at him with an impenetrable gaze. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking or feeling; maybe he’s waiting to see what Harry is thinking before he reacts for himself. But Harry doesn’t know what to think. His brain is in a spin because Albus is here and Scorpius is saying someone tried to kill them, and now Harry looks he can see singe marks on Albus’s damp clothes and in his hair, and if someone tried to kill his son then...

He runs a hand over his face and shakes his head. “Do you know for sure that it was Fiendfyre?”

Scorpius looks at Albus, who takes a small step forward.

“I know it was. I know Fiendfyre. I have some... experience. That wasn’t a normal fire.” His gaze dares Harry to question him, but Harry has no desire to. He feels sick. Albus has experience with Fiendfyre. Ginny had said as much but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. This means that what she said about Albus’s injuries is true as well. Albus is burned, scarred, damaged. He’s not coming back whole and undamaged, and that means that Harry has failed terribly. But he won’t fail again.

“Did you see anyone?” Harry asks, looking at Scorpius. “While you were at the house, did you see anyone around who might have set a fire? It’s not easy to cast Fiendfyre. It must have been someone powerful.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “We didn’t see anyone. The windows were all covered with ivy. Someone could have snuck up, cast the spell, and left without us seeing. I assume that’s what they did because there was no one in there with us. It was deserted. It felt deserted.”

Harry ruffles his fingers through his hair, trying to think. “If someone is trying to hurt you it must be someone under investigation. Someone from the league. Who from the league can cast Fiendfyre?”

“Everyone,” Albus says, rolling his eyes.

Harry sits forward in his seat. “Can you?”

Albus’s expression shifts. All his walls go up before Harry’s eyes, shoulders tightening, jaw jutting, expression glaring. “Is that an accusation? Because no, I didn’t just try to kill my boyfriend.”

His boyfriend. Ginny had mentioned that too, but it was just another one of those incomprehensible things that Harry hadn’t managed to wrap his head around. But now it’s right in front of him, made obvious by those interlinked hands and the surprised but delighted smile Scorpius is now giving Albus despite the gravity of the situation. There’s no denying it. His son loves Scorpius Malfoy, and Scorpius Malfoy loves him back.

Harry gets to his feet. “That’s not what I meant. I was just curious.”

Albus lifts his chin. “Then no,” he says. “I can’t. And I have no desire to. It’s... it’s horrible stuff. I hate it.” He mutters the last few words and drops his gaze back to his shoes.

“So it could have been anyone apart from you,” Harry says thoughtfully. “And we don’t know who it might have been.” He reaches across and sorts through his mess of files until he finds the one containing details of the league. He flips it open on top of the witness statement from Diagon Alley and frowns down at it. “Is there any reason why it couldn’t have been this Delphi herself who set fire to the house?”

Albus and Scorpius look at each other, and Harry recognises the intense but utterly silent conversation going on between them. Finally Scorpius sighs.

“Why would she set fire to her own house? And anyway, she’s been Albus’s best friend for the whole time he’s been away,” he says. “Albus doesn’t think-“

“Why would my best friend try and kill me?” Albus asks. “It can’t have been her.”

“Your best friend associates with former Death Eaters,” Harry tells him, trying to keep his voice soft and patient. In truth the information has thrown him completely. His son has been around the worst of people, criminals, who know how to perform dangerous Dark Magic. His son considers these people his friends.

“My boyfriend’s dad is a former Death Eater,” Albus argues.

“Yes but that’s-“ Harry holds his hands up and looks down at the file. The last thing he wants is to start fighting with Albus now.

“I think we should start by trying to work out what the note says.” Scorpius steps forward and picks the bit of paper up off the table. “I can’t read it. I don’t recognise the writing. There’s a possibility it’s written Parseltongue or something. I’d need to investigate. If we can work that out then we might find something.”

“You’re not investigating anything,” Harry says, looking up at him.

Scorpius looks confused. “But... this is my investigation. Why can’t I look at this next? It’s the logical way forward.”

Harry braces his hands on the table and looks Scorpius dead in the eye. “I’m sorry, Scorpius, but until we work out what’s happening with these attacks, I’m removing you from the investigation.”

Scorpius reels back a step, mouth open, eyes wide. He looks like he’s just been slapped in the face, but Harry knew that would happen. Of course it was going to hurt, but this is the only way. This is the second attack in a matter of days. Albus has been caught up in both and so has Scorpius. Taking Scorpius away from the case is the only way of keeping him safe; if anything happens to Scorpius then Draco will murder Harry. Equally, if anything happens to Scorpius then Albus will have no reason to stay. Maybe Harry should feel ashamed of that factoring into his thinking, but he’s not. He can’t be. Now that Albus is back the top priority is to keep him here.

“I’m sorry, Scorpius. This isn’t to do with your ability to handle the case, but I don’t want you in any more danger. I have people who are equipped to deal with this sort of thing. You aren’t one of those, so I can’t let you continue.”

Scorpius closes his mouth and swallows. He seems utterly lost for words. Unfortunately Albus isn’t.

Albus lets go of Scorpius’s hand for the first time since he got into the office and steps forward, right up to the desk, so he’s just inches away from Harry. His eyes blaze with anger, the way they always did when he was facing Harry. So little has changed.

“No,” he says. “You can’t take him off the case. You can’t.”

“I can,” Harry replies calmly. “I can and I am. I’m sorry, Albus, but this is Scorpius’s safety we’re-“

“But it’s not,” Albus interrupts. He gestures to Scorpius. “You know he’s brilliant. You have to. He’s been working for you for what, five years now? And he’s still stuck in the same job as he was when he started, even though you know what he can do.”

“Albus,” Scorpius murmurs. “You don’t have to-“

Albus ignores him. “This is his chance to prove himself. This is his chance to actually do something and you’re taking it away from him.” He folds his arms and glares at Harry. “I don’t know why I expected better from you. Seven years and you haven’t changed a bit.”

Harry opens his mouth, but Scorpius gets there first. He steps forward and takes hold of Albus’s arm.

“Let it go, it’s fine.”

Albus whirls round to face him. “It’s not fine,” he says, voice rising so it bounces off the walls of the office. “And you know it.”

Scorpius runs a hand down Albus’s arm. “Fine. It’s not. But I can-“

“Deal with it?” Albus asks. “That’s bullshit. You shouldn’t have to deal with this.” He turns back round to face Harry. “I ran away and left him, but I’m not leaving him again, because you know what? I learn from my mistakes. That must be a difficult concept for you, mustn’t it?”

Harry balls his hands into fists. How can Albus have so severely misunderstood what he’s trying to do here? This is always the way. Albus doesn’t get it. He doesn’t seem to understand that they want the same thing.

“Look,” Harry says. “I know Scorpius can do this. I know he can, but it’s too dangerous. This is a job for-“

“So give him a fucking Auror!” Albus explodes, flinging his hands up in exasperation. “Give him someone to help him. Stop making him the lowest of the low because you don’t want to face up to the fact that me leaving had nothing to do with him and everything to do with you. Stop letting him be your scapegoat, take some responsibility, and let him do his job!”

The heat rises and Harry glares at Albus across the table. “I _am_ taking responsibility. I’m taking responsibility for his safety. Just because you can’t understand that-“

“You don’t even deny it!” Albus steps back with a disbelieving laugh, running his hands through his lurid pink hair. “You don’t even deny that you’ve been using him, lying to everyone, just because you can’t admit to yourself or anyone else that you’re a terrible dad who chased his son out of the door.”

“I haven’t used him!” Harry says, plunging his hands into his pockets to give them something to do. “And I haven’t lied to anyone. You left because you gave up on trying to be part of the family. It was an easy way out and you took it the second you could.”

“You didn’t give me another option!” Albus shouts back. His hands are shaking now. His whole body is trembling with rage, and Scorpius tries to touch his arm, but Albus brushes him aside. “There was nowhere left to go. At least Mum tried to help, but you just wanted me to change.” He puts on a mocking, high-pitched voice. “‘Stop being friends with Scorpius. Try harder in lessons. If you’re being bullied it’s because you’re being too different. Fit in, Al. Make the Sorting Hat change its mind and put you in Gryffindor.’”

Harry shakes his head. “That’s not-“

“I couldn’t be different,” Albus continues, cutting across him, his voice breaking like there are tears coming that he’s trying to keep at bay. “That was my problem. I couldn’t fit in. I couldn’t be the son you wanted. I thought seven years away might have shown you I was good enough anyway but I guess not.” He sniffs in a breath and folds his arms across his body, shoulders collapsing inwards, chest heaving as he tries to breathe past the impending tears. “Maybe I should just leave again, like you told me to the first time. You wouldn’t miss me.”

Harry steps sideways, round the side of his desk, moving desperately towards Albus. He reaches out to him, but Albus backs away, bowing his head.

“Albus,” he says softly. “I have missed you. I don’t want you to go. I-I love you.”

Albus nods. “Great,” he says. He looks up at Harry, eyes glittering now. “Thanks for that touching statement. Fat lot of good it does me. Fat lot of good it does him.” He takes a step towards Harry so they’re practically nose to nose, and Harry can see the tears caught on his eyelashes, flooding the warm brown eyes that look so much like Ginny’s.

“Keep telling yourself you love me,” Albus murmurs. “Keep telling the world. You can kid yourself and you can kid them, but you-“ He gulps in a breath as his voice truly breaks and a tear spills out of one of his eyes and down his cheek. “You can’t fool me.” He brushes it away and lifts his chin. “I know how you really feel.” He turns on his heel and marches out of the room, the door banging shut behind him.

Harry reels back and grips the edge of his desk for support. All the breath has been knocked out of him. He can do nothing but stare at the closed door where Albus has just disappeared, possibly forever now. That might be the last time that he-

He sniffs and straightens himself up.

“Scorpius,” he says, forcing himself to look at Scorpius who is also staring at the door, eyes wide with shock. “You understand, don’t you?”

“I-“ Scorpius looks at him. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding slightly dazed. “I-I need to go with Albus.”

“But-“

Scorpius shakes his head. “I’ll think about it.” He stuffs the paper he’s holding into the pocket of his robes and heads to the door.

“Isn’t that evidence?” Harry asks, gesturing to the paper.

Scorpius looks down at his pocket, then glances back at Harry. “Is it?” He wrenches the door open and disappears, leaving Harry alone.

For a long moment that seems to last a lifetime, Harry stares at the door. He wants Scorpius to come back. He wants Albus to come back. He wants to rewind the last few minutes and try them again. He doesn’t know what he’d do differently – to protect Albus he has to protect Scorpius – but there must be something.

He removes his glasses and buries his face in his hands. He remembers the tears sparkling in Albus’s eyes and clinging to his eyelashes. He remembers the grim line of his mouth, the coldness of his expression. Harry did that. Harry always does that. But what else can he do? He even told Albus that he missed him, that he loved him. He was honest, for the first time in a long time. But even honesty gets him nowhere with Albus. Maybe he’ll never get anywhere with Albus. Maybe Albus is gone forever now.

As that thought sinks in, his body bows and he starts to cry. Tears come thick and fast, wetting his hands, dripping between his fingers and sploshing down onto his desk. One lands on the photo of Albus from earlier, and he quickly brushes it away before it can stain that perfect, pristine, fiery image of his son. His son who he loves, desperately, who he’s missed for so long; who he can’t stop chasing away.

What if that was his last chance?

He sinks into his seat and rests his head on the desk, raking his fingers through his hair as he runs through every single wrong thing he’s ever said to Albus. There are so many. Hundreds of thousands of mistakes, both big and small. The insurmountable weight of them is heavy on his heart. At this rate they’ll be with him longer than Albus will.

“I know it’s my fault,” he whispers, wishing Albus was still there to hear him. “I know that. I know I should tell everyone. I know I should say it to you. I know that. I’m sorry.”

Why is it that these things are so much easier to say in the lonely silence of his own office than they ever are to say aloud; especially to the person they’re meant for? Everything is always harder in person. That’s been the problem all along.

Albus is sitting on the edge of the Fountain of Magical Brethren when Scorpius catches up to him. He’s curled up into a tiny ball, sobbing into his hands, and he doesn’t seem to notice or care that every single person who walks past is staring at him.

The house elf standing on the plinth behind Albus almost looks like he’s watching Albus with concern as Scorpius approaches, and Scorpius can appreciate why. Albus’s crying is entirely unrestrained.

“Albus,” Scorpius murmurs. He sits down on the spray-splattered edge of the fountain beside him and puts a hand on his back. “Are you okay?”

Albus shakes his head. “N-no. No, I’m-“ He shakes his head again, unable to say anymore.

Scorpius gathers him into a tight hug. “I know,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Albus’s temple. “I know.”

Albus grips him, holding tight to his robes, and buries his face in his chest. It takes another minute before the tears subside enough for him to even try and say anything else, and when they do he doesn’t lift his head, he just mumbles into Scorpius’s robes.

“He hates me. He- He still... I knew this would happen. I knew it. I-I don’t know why I’m crying. I don’t know why I’m surprised. This is how it is.”

Scorpius brushes his fingers through Albus’s hair. “I don’t think that’s true. I think he does love you. A lot. He just... I don’t think he knows how to say it.”

“He could start by being less awful to you.” Albus sits up and starts wiping his eyes. He looks a mess, covered in tears and snot, his eyes all pink from crying.

Scorpius pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to him. “Albus... I-I get why he has to pull me. I hate it. I really hate it. But I get it. It’s safety. I’m not trained for any of this. I could barely protect us from the Dementors, and I definitely couldn’t protect us from the fire.”

“The Bubblehead Charms were genius though,” Albus mutters.

“Thank you,” Scorpius says. “But I don’t even think that’s the biggest thing...” He looks down at his hands. “I’m... I am who I am. People think what they think. I can’t be seen investigating dangerous Dark Magic. People can’t see that.”

Albus stares at him. “You... you think that’s part of his reasoning?”

Scorpius shrugs. “I don’t know. But if it isn’t it should be.”

“But it’s not true though. We know it’s not. He knows it’s not.”

“I know,” Scorpius murmurs. “I know...” He looks down at his hands and tries to ignore the gnawing feeling inside his stomach that there’s something terribly wrong with him. Everything happens for a reason. Maybe all this is truly his fault. Or at the very least maybe he deserves it.

“I think we should go home,” Albus says softly, taking hold of Scorpius’s hand.

Scorpius looks up at him. “To yours?”

Albus shakes his head. “I... I want to see my mum.”

Scorpius nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“No,” Albus says, squeezing his hand tighter. “No. I want you to come too. If... if you want.”

“Oh,” Scorpius breathes. “Are you sure?”

Albus nods. “Very very sure. And I promise she’ll be better than my dad. I promise.”

Scorpius looks at him for a long moment, torn for whether he’s allowed to say yes or not. He doesn’t want to force his company on Ginny. Surely no one would want him in their house? But at the same time, Albus has invited him, and it’s such a nice thing for Albus to have done that he doesn’t want to say no. He also really doesn’t want to have to say goodbye to Albus now. Not after the morning they’ve had. There’s so much to talk about.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Okay, I’ll come.”

Albus’s tearstained face lights up with a smile like the sun, and he gets to his feet. “Thank you. We can Floo. We’re going to Holly Cottage.”

They cross to the fireplaces and Albus lets Scorpius go first. It’s a relief to be leaving the Ministry well behind and heading to somewhere where they both might feel less out of place.

Scorpius has never been to Albus’s house before. He’s never met Albus’s mum either, only seen her briefly on the platform when he was boarding he Hogwarts Express. He doesn’t feel afraid though, the way he normally does when he has to meet someone new who only knows of him from newspapers and gossip. Ginny is Albus’s mum, and Scorpius has always thought she sounds wonderful.

He spills out of the fireplace and rolls across the hearthrug, almost flattening Ginny who is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, writing. She jumps back out of the way, upsetting her ink pot which spills all over the carpet, and Scorpius scrambles up.

“Sorry sorry sorry. I didn’t know you’d-“ He fumbles to pull his wand out of his pocket, and starts trying to clean up the ink.

“No,” Ginny says, also getting up. “It’s fine. I wasn’t expecting-“ She picks the ink pot up, moves her papers out of the wand and draws her wand to vanish the ink stain from the carpet. “It was probably a stupid place to sit anyway.” She lowers her wand and looks up, smiling.

Scorpius sees in her eyes the moment she realises that it’s him. They widen slightly and her lips part with surprise. He braces himself for a bad reaction, but then in an instant her surprise vanishes and she gives him one of the warmest smiles he’s ever been on the receiving end of.

“Hello,” she says. “Scorpius.”

“Hi,” he murmurs.

“How are you?” She asks, reaching out to put a hand on his arm.

He nods. “I-I’m okay, I think. It’s been...” He can feel himself wavering, all his emotions coming to a head the way they do when he’s faced with someone who’s really listening; who really cares. “It’s been a bit of a day.” He gives her a shaky smile, and tries to blink back the tears that are choking him. Crying in front of Albus’s mum would just be embarrassing.

She doesn’t seem to mind though. She draws him into a tight, wonderful hug and rubs his back.

“Sweetheart,” she says. “You’re a bit damp. Have you been out in the rain? You must be cold. Let me-“ She releases him and draws her wand, casting a spell that warms every inch of him and makes his clothes steam as they dry. “Are you on your own?” She takes hold of his hand, and he’s happy to let her. He’s fracturing inside, so empty and so full all at once. She reminds him so much of his mum, and it aches but he needs it. He wants it. Desperately.

“No,” he says, trying to hold himself together. “No, um. Albus should be-“

Albus flies out of the fireplace and falls flat on his face on the carpet, coughing. Ginny gives Scorpius a sparkling smile of amusement and rolls her eyes. Scorpius snorts and squeezes her hand. He loves her. She’s wonderful. How could Albus have run away from this?

“Hello, Albus,” Ginny says, and Scorpius has to bite his lip to stop himself laughing at the bright, fond judgement in her voice.

Albus picks himself up off the floor and brushes himself off, giving her a sheepish grin. “Hi, Mum.”

“You’ve certainly learned how to make an entrance in the last seven years.”

Albus shrugs, just a tiny twitch of his shoulders. “I like to make sure you haven’t forgotten I’m here.” He tries to smile, Scorpius can see the courage in his attempt, but he doesn’t really pull it off.

“Come here,” Ginny says, and she hugs Albus too, squeezing him tight in her arms, then she pulls back and casts the drying spell on him too, before looking between the two of them. “You look like two people who need a cup of tea.”

“Lemonade?” Albus asks hopefully, wiping soot off his face. “Do you still make that amazing lemonade?”

“Of course,” Ginny says, reaching out to get a spot of soot on Albus’s nose that he’s missed. “Have a seat. I’ll get drinks.”

“And the burn salve?” Albus asks. “Is there any left?”

She looks between them, scrutinising them, and Scorpius realises for the first time that the hem of his robe is charred, and that part of Albus’s top is singed, burned through to his skin, which is an angry red beneath.

“Yes,” she says. “I’ve got it. When I come back do we all need to talk?”

Albus glances at Scorpius. They both look a mess: tear stained, soot covered, and charred round the edges.

“Probably,” he mutters, and Scorpius nods, looking back at Ginny.

“I think so too.”

She squares her shoulders. “Alright. Drinks.” She disappears into the kitchen, leaving Albus and Scorpius to sit on the sofa in silence.

At first they sit at opposite ends of the sofa. Scorpius wants to put an arm round Albus, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed when they’re sitting in Albus’s parents’ house. But then Albus slides across the cushions towards him.

“Can I-“ He gestures to the space next to Scorpius, and Scorpius holds an arm out to him in response.

Albus curls up against his side, resting his head on his shoulder, and Scorpius gathers him in, brushing his fingers through his hair.

“Your hair’s still bright pink,” he murmurs.

Albus closes his eyes and rests a hand on Scorpius’s chest. “That feels so long ago. It was just a couple of hours.”

“A lot has happened since then,” Scorpius agrees, picking at the scorched bit of Albus’s hair and wondering if there’s any way of fixing it. It probably won’t show up so much when his hair is back to its normal colour, but against the pink it’s painfully stark.

“I saw my dad again,” Albus breathes. “I-I saw him... It didn’t go well, but I-“

Scorpius kisses the top of his head. “You were incredible.”

Albus shakes his head and sits up. “I was a disaster.”

Scorpius smiles at him. “An incredible disaster.”

Albus looks at him, a tiny frown creasing his forehead. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

“Everything is a compliment,” Scorpius says, leaning across and planting a kiss on his lips.

The door opens behind them and they spring apart as Ginny returns. She’s levitating a tray of drinks and carrying a small bottle, which she hands to Albus before setting the tray down. Albus mumbles his thanks and unbuttons the neck of his shirt so he can get to his shoulder. Ginny watches him, and Scorpius watches her, not knowing her nearly well enough to know what she’s thinking.

“So,” she says finally. “What have you two been up to?”

Albus has closed his eyes in sheer relief as the salve touched his skin, but he opens them now and glances first at Scorpius, then at his mum. “Well, I think I started off telling the world how wrong they are about him, and then we went to a creepy house and someone set fire to it and tried to burn us alive, so after that we went to the Ministry and I ended up yelling at Dad.”

Ginny looks at Scorpius, who nods. She sits back in her seat.

“I see what you mean, Scorpius. It _has_ been a bit of a day.”

“Dad wants to take Scorpius off the case,” Albus says, sliding to the edge of the sofa and looking at his mum. “He’s being ridiculous. He-“

“He said he wants to keep me safe,” Scorpius mutters.

“He’s doing what he always does,” Albus continues. “And he still won’t admit that he’s the reason I ended up leaving. He’s still trying to blame Scorpius. If he stopped doing that then everything would be fine.”

“I’d still be investigating the league though,” Scorpius says, glancing at him. “And presumably that’s why someone is trying to kill me.

“No.” Albus holds a hand up to stop him. “No, if Dad was less of an idiot you wouldn’t even be doing this job. You’d have a job you deserve, so you wouldn’t be anywhere near the league.”

“But I wouldn’t have found you,” Scorpius points out.

Albus shrugs. “Maybe I wouldn’t have run away.”

Silence stretches between them, tense to the point of breaking. Scorpius needs to say something, anything, just to escape that silence, but before he can open his mouth Ginny gets there.

“I’m not sure I understand everything here,” she says. “Can one of you start from the beginning?”

They glance at each other, then Albus gestures for Scorpius to go ahead, and slowly Scorpius begins to piece the whole thing together for Ginny, interspersed with questions from her and plenty of interruptions from Albus. It feels good to actually talk about everything for the first time. Apart from his dad, it’s been so long since anyone properly listened to Scorpius and heard how he feels about everything. The longer he talks and the more in depth his explanation gets, the greater the weight that seems to lift from his chest, and the more space he seems to have inside him. The whole world feels a bit brighter, and when he’s finished he sits back in his seat and doesn’t much care what anyone says next. Telling the story has been therapy enough, without anyone trying to help fix everything.

“How... how have you been doing this for so long?” Ginny asks, staring at Scorpius like she’s seeing him for the first time and is amazed by the sight.

Scorpius exhales and a tiny, relieved smile crosses his face. “I don’t know.” He twists his hands together and shakes his head. “I just... have.”

“Well,” she says. “Something needs to change. I don’t know what, but- We have to do something. This isn’t fair. It’s not-“

Out in the kitchen the lock on the back door clicks, and they all look round. Ginny gets to her feet.

“We’re going to talk to him. Right now.”

Albus looks at Scorpius and there’s sheer panic in his eyes.

“I don’t know if I can-“

Scorpius reaches out and takes hold of his hand. “I know I can’t. Not without you. Stay with me?”

Albus looks up at his mum, who is heading into the kitchen. “Alright,” he murmurs. “I’ll try.”

They sit in silence and strain to hear the conversation in the kitchen. There’s a lot of low, soft talking going on, and they only hear snatches of words and phrases.

“They’re both here?” Harry asks, voice rising and carrying through the wall.

A few moments later they hear Ginny. “...reconsider... explain... after everything he’s been through...”

There’s a true silence, the silence of consideration, then Harry speaks again. “Alright. Alright.”

Footsteps cross the kitchen floor and Albus presses himself against Scorpius’s side, twisting to face away from the door. Scorpius puts an arm round him and they both look up as Harry enters the room, expression serious, with Ginny following behind.

“Hi,” he says, looking down at the ground as he undoes the buttons of his shirt cuffs and starts rolling the sleeves up to his elbows. When he’s done he lifts his gaze to looks at them, and runs a hand through his already wild hair. “Look, this isn’t about Scorpius. The case isn’t what we thought it would be when Scorpius took it on. It was meant to be a light, easy first case, but it’s not anymore, and-“ He glances at Ginny, who gives him a little nod, and he goes and sits in the arm chair closest to the sofa.

“There’s stuff going on,” he says. “A lot of stuff. You told me yourself, Scorpius. Dark Magic is in a resurgence. I mean... not exactly a resurgence, it never truly went away, but it’s shifting. Things are moving, things we can’t necessarily see, things we don’t understand yet. Fiendfyre arson and Dementor attacks might be part of that, but whatever they are they’re serious and life-threatening, and I’d take anyone off a case like that.”

Scorpius hangs his head. He gets it, but that doesn’t make it any easier. “Can I at least keep doing the desk work?” He asks. He pulls the crumbled copy of the page from his pocket. “Translating this isn’t going to get me killed, is it?“

“I don’t know what it’ll do,” Harry says. “I don’t know, Scorpius.”

Ginny starts to speak. “Harry, I think-“

At the exact same moment, Albus says, “Dad, I-“

They both break off, and Ginny gestures to Albus to go first. He shakes his head and looks down at his hands.

“No,” she says more insistently. “Go on, Albus.”

He sighs, shoulders rising and falling, and Scorpius feels the swell of Albus’s breath against his body. He grazes his knuckles along Albus’s side, wanting to encourage him, and Albus looks up at his dad.

“I’m part of that league, Dad. I know you know that. I haven’t left. I don’t want to leave. It’s my life. Those are my friends, my colleagues, they’re everything. If all this is to do with the league then that puts me in danger. And no matter what happens, I’m going to stay with Scorpius, and I hope he’ll stay with me, which means he’s in danger too.” He holds a hand up to cut Harry off when Harry starts to speak. “My point is that taking Scorpius off the case achieves nothing except the league’s not being investigated anymore. I don’t _want_ Scorpius to get hurt, of course I don’t, but I trust him to do a good job at looking into this, and if we’re already in danger then surely a little bit of desk research won’t make much difference?”

Harry takes his glasses off and starts cleaning them in silence, and Ginny moves across to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Harry, I think this is important to both of them. I agree that we should be keeping them safe, but I also think, and correct me if I’m wrong, Scorpius, that even if you did take Scorpius off the case, he wouldn’t just give up.” She smiles across at Scorpius. “He’s not exactly lacking in will and determination, and I think we know by now that Albus is as stubborn as a concrete block. They’re going to keep doing this whether they’re allowed to or not, and I’d much prefer they had some sort of Ministry backing and protection than they run off in secret and get themselves killed.” She squeezes Harry’s shoulder and leans down to kiss him on top of the head. “He’s got your spark,” she murmurs. “Even after everything, he’s still your son.”

Albus twitches and turns away, resting his forehead on Scorpius’s shoulder, and Scorpius rubs his back, watching as Harry finishes cleaning every inch of his glasses, inspects them in the light streaming through the open window, and pushes them back on.

“None of you are taking no for an answer, are you?”

Scorpius shakes his head. He folds up the paper with the mysterious writing on and makes sure Harry sees him putting it back in his pocket.

Harry sighs. “How about this. There’s a spell you can use to call for immediate backup. I normally only give it to Aurors who are on dangerous solo missions so they can ask for help. It’s not something I hand out to everyone, and it’s only to be used in a life threatening situation. If I give it to you, Scorpius, you’ll be able to get help if anything else happens. That way you can keep investigating and there’s a safety net if something goes badly wrong. How does that sound?”

Scorpius looks at Ginny, then at Albus, then he nods. “I like that. It sounds perfect.”

“Good,” Harry says. “Excellent. I can live with that compromise.”

Ginny smiles and rubs Harry’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

Harry rubs his forehead and nods. “That’s alright. As long as everyone’s happy, then...” He trails off, and Scorpius realises that what he thought was the conclusion to the conversation wasn’t. Now Harry is looking at Albus, and it’s clear he’s not done.

“I think I need to say sorry. For some things. If you’ll give me that chance.”

Albus lifts his head and looks at Scorpius, and Scorpius gives him a small nod that he hopes says ‘yes, he’s definitely talking to you’. Albus looks down at his hands, then very slowly twists round to face his dad.

“Okay,” he says in a very small voice.

“Why don’t we go and sort out some more drinks, Scorpius,” Ginny says, giving Harry one last pat on the shoulder and reaching out a hand to Scorpius. “I think we might need to make some more ice cubes as well.”

Albus grips Scorpius’s arm and looks at him, wild-eyed. Scorpius cups his face in both hands and kisses him on the forehead.

“I’ll be next door,” he murmurs. “With your mum.” He pulls back and gives Albus an encouraging smile. “Listen to him. I promise it’ll be okay.”

Albus’s grip on his arm releases, and he detaches himself and slides off the sofa to go and join Ginny in the kitchen, leaving Harry and Albus to talk.

Albus squashes himself against the arm of the sofa and folds his arms across his chest, curling up as small as he can get. He keeps his gaze down so he doesn’t have to look at his dad. Every instinct in his body is screaming at him to sprint to the fireplace and go home, go anywhere, disappear again. But he made Scorpius a promise, and if he‘s staying then he has to work out how to do this.

“Seven years is a long time,” Harry says.

Albus nods and messes with a burned bit of fabric on his shorts.

“You’ve grown up. You’ve... You look really good. Although I’m not sure about the hair.”

Albus runs a hand over his head. “That was James’s fault,” he mutters.

Harry laughs. “I’m not surprised. I...” He trails off, and an awkward silence hangs between them, a yawning gap separating the past and present from the promise of the future. It feels too big to be surmountable, a huge yawning chasm, and Albus has no idea how this is supposed to end. Forgiveness? Love? Or just more of the same?

“I _am_ sorry, Albus,” Harry murmurs finally. “About... well, about everything I suppose. You know, I always thought that being Harry Potter was difficult. All this expectation and pressure, you know? Everyone waiting for me to make a mistake. But being your dad, being a good dad, is harder. And I don’t think I’m great at it. I certainly haven’t been in the past... But I do want to be better. I want to at least have that chance. And that’s not me asking you to forgive me, I can’t ask you to do that, but if you could find me some patience, at least... I can have a go at working out how to be everything I should have been all along.”

Albus inspects his fingernails. There‘s pressure building up inside him again, a wall of emotion and pain. All the memories of seven years ago come flooding back in a rush, and he pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them, staring at the wall beyond his dad.

“You told me to leave,” he whispers. “Do you remember that? You said ‘if you’re so unhappy, why don’t you just leave?’ It was so much easier for you not to have me around, interfering with your perfect family. I never fitted, I know that. I’m not really a Potter. Not then, not now, not ever.”

“Albus... you’re different. You’re you. That’s a good thing.”

“Is it?” Albus asks, flicking his gaze across to his dad. “You always made it feel like it was the worst thing in the world.”

“It’s not,” Harry says adamantly. “I promise you it’s not. I...” He gets to his feet and starts pacing across the room, hands in his pockets. He’s never been good at sitting still.

“When you were younger,” he says, looking at Albus. “I used to think that maybe your life would be easier if you were more like James or Lily. You know, if you were more popular, if you had more friends, if you enjoyed Quidditch and did better at school. Maybe even if you’d been sorted into Gryffindor. But...” He pauses in his stride, turning on his heel to face into the room, head down. “That’s not you. And the things I missed most over the last seven years were all the things that were _you_.”

He goes over and perches tentatively on the very far end of the sofa to Albus. When Albus doesn’t move away from him, he settles an inch further onto the cushions.

“I missed coming home from work and the whole house smelling of the fumes from whatever potion you were working on that day, did you know that? I missed the little bits of emerald green everywhere – your tie on the back of a kitchen chair, your jumper on the washing line, that hoodie you never seemed to take off-“

“I still have that hoodie,” Albus says, looking up at him.

Harry smiles. “I’m not surprised. You loved that thing. I’m amazed you haven’t worn through it by now.”

“I had to get a second one,” Albus says, giving him a tiny smile.

“Of course you did.” Harry moves a tiny bit closer. “If you want to know another thing I missed, it was walking into the house and thinking no one was around, but you’d be sitting on the sofa reading. I’d come in and you wouldn’t even notice. You were the calmest thing about this place. Sometimes it’s still too noisy here, even now James and Lily have left. I missed your stillness. And I missed you helping me in the kitchen. I started missing that a long time before you left.”

Albus looks at him. “Did you?”

Harry nods. “I loved that. James would never cook, I still don’t trust him not to burn the house down, and Lily always had so much else going on. But you always wanted to help. I liked teaching you. I liked having your help.”

“I still cook,” Albus murmurs. “I like it. I have a really good kitchen in my house. I don’t get the chance to use it as much as I’d like, but when I can... There’s nothing like cooking my own food in my own kitchen to make me feel like I’m at home.”

“What’s your favourite thing to cook?” Harry asks, and he looks like he actually cares about the answer, gaze bright and attentive.

“Sunday roast,” Albus says. “But I don’t have anyone to cook it for... I mean, I suppose I have Scorpius now, but before... It has to be roast beef. Not chicken or whatever. And there have to be Yorkshire puddings.”

“Of course. It’s not a proper roast without Yorkshires.”

Albus sits up, uncurling his legs and looking at his dad. “I still don’t understand how you get them so fluffy, though. Mine always come out a bit too crispy. They’re too thin.”

“I can give you the recipe if you like,” Harry says. “I was going to give you it when you left home, but...” He trails off, and some of the brightness fades from his eyes.

Albus curls his toes into the sofa, then he swings round, so he’s closer to his dad, sitting next to him, feet on the carpet, nothing but a foot or so of space between them.

“I don’t get it though,” Albus says softly.

“What don’t you get?”

Albus crosses his legs and twists his hands together in his lap. “I don’t get any of it. I... I don’t get why we ended up fighting if you thought all this all along. I don’t get why you didn’t stop everyone saying all that stuff about Scorpius. I don’t understand how we got here.” He gestures to the world at large. “What happened?”

Harry looks at him and shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

Albus frowns. “If we don’t know then how are we supposed to stop it happening again?”

Harry sighs. “Well... maybe I do know. I think it was a lot of things, Albus. You probably know some of them better than me, but... I think we sometimes have the same temper. I get angry, and you can be stubborn and defensive.”

Albus glares at him. “What does that mean?”

Harry smiles at that, and Albus can’t help but smile too, ducking his head.

“Okay, so maybe I can.”

“We clash really well,” Harry continues. “Your mum used to say we were like fireworks going off. Spectacular at times but quite loud and ultimately dangerous if used the wrong way.”

Albus grins. “Am I one of those Roman candles that you think’s going to be incredible but ends up being really disappointing?”

Harry shakes his head. “You’re never disappointing. Difficult, individual, unique, but brilliant in your own way. I’ve seen Sev’s case file, Albus. I know you’re the best at what you do. That’s impressive whether it’s legal or not.”

Albus bows his head as his cheeks heat up. “Thanks,” he mutters. “I think.”

Harry nods. “So that’s the first thing. And the second...” He sighs. “I don’t have an excuse for that. I...” He fiddles with the top button on his waist coat, undoing it then doing it up again. “I suppose I was scared. Actually no, there’s no suppose about it.” He looks at Albus. “I know it was my fault. I know it was that firework factor, that thing between us that meant we could never talk. I know I said some really really, catastrophically stupid things to you. I spent seven years wishing I could erase all those words, all those fights, the things that came out of my mouth when my blood was boiling and I wasn’t thinking. But I can’t erase the past, no one can, whatever they do. You just have to make do with what you have, and my starting point was and still is rock bottom.”

He leans back on the sofa and turns his body to face Albus. “I was really scared that people would find out what a terrible dad Harry Potter is. My parents died for me, you know? I was supposed to be able to follow that example. But there’s something about this, about you, that terrifies me. I-I don’t know what I’m doing, Albus. Lily and James just sort of fell into place, but I was, I _am_ , so out of my depth with you. It’s not your fault, it’s just... This is how it is. I wish it was different but it’s not, and it makes me feel so lost. And then when you ran away...” He rubs his fingers over the back of his scarred hand and stares off into space, not looking at Albus, although Albus can’t look away from him. “It was easier to let people think what they thought than have everyone find out what I’d done.” He looks at Albus and gives a tiny smile. “Not my finest work as a Gryffindor.”

“But Scorpius,” Albus says softly. “What about Scorpius?”

Harry nods. “What about Scorpius...” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I chased you away and then I ruined his life.”

“I think... I think his life was already shit enough before we came along,” Albus murmurs. “And then we both made it worse. Not just you. I was the one who walked out on him... We should set the record straight, somehow. Talk to someone. Make the Prophet publish it.”

Harry nods. “It would definitely be a start.” He skims his fingers over the back of his hand one last time and his shoulders slump. “I’m really sorry, Albus. For everything.”

“I’m sorry too,” Albus whispers. “A-and I missed you. Every day.” He gives a small, shaky smile. “Sometimes I even missed our fights. Just the sound of your voice. I missed you humming in the kitchen and you telling James off, and... I hope it’s okay that I want to come back.” He looks at his dad and the tears come flooding out again, thick and fast and sudden, spilling down his cheeks and dripping right down his neck and into the open collar of his shirt, where they trickle like rain against his skin. “I-I know it’s been seven years but I really want to come home. I want my family back. I want Lily and James and Mum. And I want you. I want to be a Potter again. Please.”

He buries his face in his hands and loses himself, sobbing uncontrollably. It doesn’t matter that his dad is watching. Everything hurts so much, it’s been hurting for longer than he realised. He’s had those words building up inside him for so long that it feels like a dam has broken in his heart and now he can’t stop crying.

“You-“ His dad starts, then stops, and Albus can’t look up to see why. He can barely even listen to what his dad is saying right now. In a way he doesn’t care what the answer is, even though he’s never cared more about the answer to any question in his whole life. Just the fact that he asked it is more than he thought himself capable of.

“Albus,” Harry breathes, and then Albus realises that he’s being hugged. His dad is hugging him, holding him, brushing his fingers through his hair, cradling him like he’s a kid again and he’s fallen in the garden and scraped his knee. It’s a healing, unconditional hug that overwhelms Albus even more than he already is, and he buries his face in his dad’s shoulder and cries even harder, because even though he doesn’t have an answer to his question yet, this hug itself is a sort of answer, and the answer is yes.

“You never stopped being a Potter,” his dad whispers into his hair. “You’re Albus Severus Potter. That’s your name. That’s who you are. You’re- you’re my son, and I love you. I love you very much.”

Albus clings to him, clings to his words, and cries more than he ever has before in his life.


	10. Eyrie

_The stadium is a bubbling cauldron of atmosphere and noise. They’re racing in one of the smaller stadiums tonight so it’s packed to the rafters, and the crowd is so loud that Albus can’t even hear himself think. He’s grateful for that. The sound blocks out his fear. It stops him worrying about what he’s about to do._

_“You look like you’re about to pass out,” Delphi says, walking up behind him and taking hold of his shoulders to spin him round so she can scrutinise him. “Please don’t pass out in the air and fall off your broom. That would be a bit of an embarrassing start. And try not to throw up either.”_

_Albus swallows and nods. “I’ll try? I don’t know if I can guarantee...” He glances over his shoulder at the exit to the tunnel, which leads onto the pitch. The crowd is obscured in darkness by the bright, silver glow coming from the grass, the lines, the stadium itself. The only thing breaking that soft silver light is the deep red glow of the Fiendfyre crates, which are still being lit. Every time one catches light the crowd roars louder in anticipation, and Albus grips the wall for support, his legs shaking._

_“Sev,” Delphi says patiently, squeezing his shoulders. “You’re very good at this. You’re fast, you’re manoeuvrable, you’re more than a little bit reckless. Forget about the crowd and fly. You’ll be great.”_

_“I don’t think it’s the crowd I’m worried about,” Albus murmurs, looking at her. “It’s... it’s everything really. I mean, what if I get burned? What if I fall off? What if someone recognises me? What if I come last? Will you still be my manager if I come last? I don’t want to let you down.”_

_Delphi rolls her eyes and gives a heavy sigh. “You’re not going to come last. Trust me. Now stop worrying and get out there and race.” She spins him round and shoves him towards the tunnel entrance, so he trips over his feet and nearly sprawls headlong. He manages to catch himself though, and he heads out onto the pitch to join the mass of other racers who are all preparing._

_It’s a mass start race to begin. Sudden death – Albus still isn’t sure if that means literally or not – everyone in, utter chaos. It’s the most dangerous and difficult of all the races because there are so many people in the air, and he’s been dreading it. The game plan is simple: get off the front early and stay out of trouble. He just doesn’t know yet if he’s fast enough to execute it. This is going to be one of the hardest things he’s ever done._

_Above him, the final Fiendfyre cage flares into life and the crowd scream and applaud. Albus’s heart pounds in his chest, so hard that he’s scared it might explode. He presses a hand over the top of his new dragon-hide jacket and takes a deep breath._

Calm down _, he tells himself._ Breathe. You can do this.

_A whistle blast carries through the stadium, shrill and piercing. Around Albus everyone starts mounting their brooms. He pulls his goggles down over his eyes and lays his own broom up in the air, running a hand down the handle. It’s vibrating with anticipation, and Albus suspects it’s more excited than he is. He just hopes its excitement will be infectious. It’s been a good friend to him so far but today will be the biggest test._

_He draws in another deep breath and hops onto the broom, which starts to lift off the ground instantly. It wants to be in the air. It wants to race._

_As he rises one of the older riders, the one with the thick Welsh accent who he thinks is called Gareth, sweeps up next to him and claps him on the back. “Good luck, Sev. I hope it’s not too brutal for you.”_

_Albus looks at Gareth. “Isn’t it always brutal?”_

_He grins. “You’ve been around too long already. Just keep your head down, keep away from the fire, and keep flying straight ahead. You’ll be fine. Hopefully.” He soars off to join the mass of racers gathering by the start line, and Albus grips the handle of his broom and tries to feel less like he’s about to projectile vomit onto the pitch below._

_It’s difficult to get any sort of position on the start line, let alone a good one. Albus is jostled from all sides, knocked around, buffeted through the crowd like a leaf on the wind. He’s easily one of the smallest racers in the league, which means it’s much harder to fight his way through everyone else, but he does have the advantage of being able to slip through the tiniest of gaps, so by the time the five seconds to start whistle goes, he’s managed to squeeze his way into the second line of racers._

_With three seconds to go he spots a gap ahead of him and darts towards it. It closes up fast as people drift towards the line, but just as the starting whistle blasts through the air he reaches the gap and threads the needle straight through, flying like an arrow into clear air ahead._

_There’s no one around him, and he flattens himself against his broom, coaxing it up to full speed. It doesn’t need much encouragement. He doesn’t think he’s ever flown this fast in his life, but of course that’s not necessarily a good thing._

_“Shit,” he yells, as he spots a crate of Fiendfyre rushing towards them. “We need to turn. TURN!” He pulls hard on the broom, but it’s one of the scrappiest turns he’s ever made. They go skidding round the corner sideways, several metres away from the crate, and the racers just behind take advantage and go zipping through on the inside._

_There are five racers ahead of him now, streaking off into the night, but once he’s on the straight with them he gets as low to the handle of his broom as he can, pressing his stomach into it and hanging on with his ankles and the tips of his fingers. He goes shooting forwards, slowly gaining, but there’s only so much he can do before he has to sit up for the next turn, which he makes much more easily. It’s a big, banking roll, and he goes straight underneath one of the racers, the Fiendfyre singeing the top of his hair because he’s so close to it._

_“The baby racer wants to play!” He hears someone call, and another of the racers glances back at him, grinning._

_“Nice flying, Sev.”_

_“Thanks,” he calls back. “I hope you like it so much when I’m front of you.”_

_One of them lets out a hoot of laughter. “Feisty baby racer. I like this one. How’s your diving, Sev?”_

_They reach a point in the air where there are several looping arches of golden light, directing them down towards the ground, almost arrow-straight down. As they approach, Albus can’t help but grin, because the answer to the racers’ question is that his diving is immaculate. It’s what he loves most. It’s what he’s best at. No one can stick with him in a dive, and they don’t._

_He pulls straight down, shooting vertically towards the ground, letting out a whoop of pure exhilaration. There’s nothing to lose if he hits the ground. His family don’t care about him, Scorpius is better off with him out of the way, racing is all he has to live for now, and if he goes down in the process then it might as well be in a blaze of glory._

_He descends in a lightning quick blur, passing two competitors. It doesn’t feel like he’s flying anymore. He’s falling, he’s dancing, he’s part of the sky. When he pulls out of the dive it feels like the easiest thing in the world. Why was he afraid of this? Racing is like learning to breathe again. Racing is coming home. Racing is where he belongs._

_He banks round the next turn with a huge grin on his face. It doesn’t matter where anyone else is because he’s in front of all but one person, and he knows he can stay ahead because up here, in the sky, on a broom, Sev is untouchable._

_The cages of Fiendfyre flash past, but he doesn’t feel the heat. He doesn’t hear the crowd. He’s alone in the black sky, all his focus on the broom tail ahead of him._

_When rain starts to patter down he ignores it. The water slides off his charmed goggles so he doesn’t have to worry about his vision being obscured. All he has to do is grip the broom harder so he doesn’t slip off. Steam pours off the Fiendfyre cages and fills the air, but he doesn’t take his eye off the person in front for even an instant._

_There’s another dive coming up soon. He remembers noting them all when he’d memorised the course. They’re where he can get his advantage. If he can get close enough to the people in front, he can go past on the dive and then pull away. After that dive there are just two turns to the finish. He can hold anyone off for that long._

_“Come on,” he mutters to his broom. “Come on, just a little bit faster. You can do this. We can do this.” He brushes his fingers over the perfectly smooth, diamond hard wood. “Let’s go.”_

_Albus has never managed to achieve a true partnership with anyone or anything before. Scorpius was his best friend, who he loved, but they’d stopped talking properly before Albus had left. Albus’s wand has never really listened to him. His family are his family, enough said. This is the closest he’s ever got to unity of effort and ambition. He wants to win and so does his broom. They’re both built to race and win, and that’s what they’re going to do._

_From nowhere comes another burst of speed. They’re closing, inch by inch. Albus isn’t even holding on with his ankles anymore, he’s just lying flat on the broom, toes pointed behind him, trying to match its shape, to become part of it. They sweep round a corner and gain even further. Albus could reach out and touch the tail of his opponent’s broom, but that would be cheating, and he’s not here to cheat. He’s here to win._

_They’re neck and neck when they reach the dive, but that doesn’t last long. Albus is a raindrop, he’s a lightning bolt, he’s a bird of prey. He pelts towards the pitch and his stomach lurches. He has to grab on with his feet again so he doesn’t slip off his broom, and it’s a good job he does because suddenly the ground is right there and it takes all his strength to pull up._

_His toes graze the sodden blades of grass and spray kicks up behind him. He’s in front now. He’s winning. He can hold on until the line. Just two more turns._

_The wind whistling through his ears is the only thing he can hear. The icy hammer of rain on his hands is all he can feel. It’s difficult to see anything at all in the darkness. The inside of his mouth tastes dry. He can smell the Fiendfyre smoke in the air. Everything is the race. Everything is flying. Everything is winning._

_He rounds the corner, shoulder brushing the Fiendfyre crate, and even that brief contact is unbearable. He yells and almost loses control, but his broom knows where he’s going, it knows they’re nearly home, and it keeps flying arrow straight even as he twitches and grabs his shoulder._

_The long straight is enough to give him time to compose himself, drawing in a breath to hold himself steady. Just one corner left, then he can scream and cry and get someone to look at his shoulder. One corner left until he’s won his first ever race. One corner left until he’s seizing hold of his future and making it his present._

_He skims round it in perfect balance and shoots towards the line. It’s almost too easy. There’s no one around. He expects something to happen, a fireball to hit him out of nowhere, someone to grab hold of his broom tail, for him to have got the course wrong. But then he crosses the line and he realises the crowd is roaring, and he’s braking, and one of his competitors is there slapping him on the back and ruffling his hair, and he’s done it. Sev has finished his first race. Sev has_ won _his first race._

_He yells his triumph to the sky and sinks to the ground, heart light as a feather, pure joy pumping through his veins._

_He doesn’t win the meet that night, he loses his semi-final, but that doesn’t matter, because he feels like he’s found himself here in the sky above this stadium. The future is his to make, and it’s already begun._

“This is my favourite one,” Scorpius says, tossing a magazine across the coffee table at Albus. “Look at you in this photo. You look incredible.”

Albus sighs and picks up the magazine from the growing pile on the table. The photo on the front is from a different angle to some of the others, but the image is essentially the same. He’s shouting at the crowd in Diagon Alley, blazing, a look of sheer ferocity on his face. There’s no denying that it’s a good photo, and the more he looks at it and all the others, the more happy he is with everything he’d said.

“Wait wait,” Scorpius says, picking up another magazine. “No, this one’s the best. Look at this.” He passes it across to Albus, who takes it and sees himself looking up at Scorpius. He looks besotted, the expression on his face soft, his eyes shining. The headline above it all says “I’m in love with him, and you should love him too”.

“It’s so sappy,” Scorpius says happily. “It’s beautiful. I want to frame it and put it on my wall.”

Albus bats at him. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

“No,” Scorpius says, clutching his heart. “I’m just in love with you too. Listen to this.” He steals the magazine back from Albus and clears his throat. “‘It was a heart-warming declaration of love that left us all gooey. Yesterday, after seven years missing, Albus Severus Potter appeared on the steps of Gringotts in Diagon Alley and announced to the world that he’s in love with Scorpius Malfoy.

Scorpius has long been one of the most controversial figures in the wizarding world. Called ‘Son of Voldemort’ and accused of being the reason behind Albus’s disappearance, he has always stayed strong and graceful under suspicion, and now we know the reason why – true love.

“When you have a boy as gorgeous as this waiting in the wings to clear your name and tell the world he loves you, surely that helps you stay strong through anything. Now if only we could find ourselves the handsome Potter of our dreams... Turn to page 69 for the latest gossip about older Potter brother James’s love life.’”

Albus snorts. “69. He’ll love that. Can I send him a copy of this? What are they saying about him?”

Scorpius flicks through the pages and grins. “‘The Joker in the Pack – Good news ladies and gents, James Sirius Potter is reportedly still single and ready to mingle. A close confidant of young Mr Potter revealed to us that he hasn’t yet found the person of his dreams. Perhaps the new range of Wonder Witch potions he’s helped develop for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes is a play to attract the right lady...’”

“A close confidant?” Albus asks, choking on his coffee. “Who the hell would that be?”

Scorpius shrugs. “It’s a magazine. They make it all up.” He tosses it on top of their mountain of papers and leans back in his seat. “I think you might have made a bit of a splash yesterday, Albus. I think people noticed you.”

“Half of them think I’m crazy or under the Imperius Curse though,” Albus says. “So they don’t count.”

“True,” Scorpius concedes. “But still. You’re not in hiding anymore... Do you think people will recognise you at your next race?”

Albus crosses his legs on his kitchen chair and stares down at the smooth, fine-grained top of his table. “Oh. I hadn’t thought about that.” What if Sev is gone just like that? What if everyone knows who they’re watching fly? What if...

It’s such a weird, incomprehensible thought that he doesn’t know how to engage with it, how to process it. He’s never been Albus in the air. He doesn’t know if Albus knows how to race. Sev is a seasoned winner, but Albus is just a scared kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“Sorry,” Scorpius murmurs. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”

Albus shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. It’s just really weird to think about.”

“When is your next race?” Scorpius asks.

“Tuesday night,” Albus says. “I’ll have to check where.” A sudden thought strikes him and he looks across at Scorpius. “Have you been to a race yet?”

Scorpius frowns. “No. I haven’t yet...”

Albus smiles at him. “How can you investigate us if you haven’t even seen us race? That’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t know,” Scorpius says. “I didn’t think it was my sort of thing. And it’s illegal. Surely as a ministry official I shouldn’t be encouraging illegal behaviour by attending these sorts of-“

“Call it an investigation,” Albus says, waving a hand. “Dad won’t mind. He does stupid stuff like that all the time.”

“I suppose it could be useful,” Scorpius says slowly. “To see what a race is actually like.”

“You can gather evidence on how much destruction we cause,” Albus says happily. “You just have to make one promise though.”

Scorpius scrutinises him. “I can’t do anything illegal... or at least anything more illegal than coming to the race in the first place.”

Albus gets up and goes over to him, running a hand through his hair and down the side of his face. “You have to cheer for me.”

Scorpius reaches up and pulls him in for a long kiss. “That,” he says, when they finally part and Albus is sitting on his lap, trying to catch his breath, “is definitely something I can do.”

Albus arrives at the stadium on Tuesday night in a buoyant mood. They’re back in Holyhead again, which feels just like coming home. When he strolls down the corridor to the dressing room he grins up at his mum’s name on the wall. Maybe tonight’s race will be for her.

He lets himself into the locker room and finds that he’s the first one to arrive. It’s peaceful and still, and he stands in the middle of the room and inhales, closing his eyes and listening to the silence. The calm before the storm.

When he opens his eyes he walks across the room to his favourite stall. The best thing about getting here first is that he can sit wherever he wants. As he approaches it he sees something lying on the bench, and he frowns, wondering if he’s actually not the first person here, but as he gets closer he realises that it’s a copy of the Daily Prophet, with a piece of parchment stuck on top, and there’s no denying that it’s a note to him, and there’s no denying who it’s from.

_What were you thinking?_

Delphi.

He hasn’t seen her since Friday night, when they flew to the top of the Shard and drank Firewhisky. The last he saw of her was her disappearing into the night. And after that everything has changed. He hasn’t talked to her about any of it. He doesn’t really know what to say. She was the one who always told him the future was his to make. Now he’s really making it, and he doesn’t know if she’s very pleased about it. In fact, he knows she’s not.

He sighs and picks up the newspaper and note. Time to go and apologise to her. Again.

It’s not easy to find her. The stadium is a warren of corridors and passageways. Aside from the public areas there are all sorts of maintenance walkways and hidden rooms. Albus searches all the spaces Delphi normally frequents, from the broom sheds to the commentary booth perched halfway up the stadium to the tiny little meeting room where she coaxes money out of people. She’s not in any of them, so as a last ditch attempt, Albus scrambles up the ladder that leads all the way to the top of the stadium structure.

He finds her up there, perched precariously on a narrow metal beam, her feet hanging over the edge, twirling her wand between her fingers.

“You’ve remembered that I exist, then,” she says without looking round at him.

He sighs. “Delphi, I didn’t forget about you, I... I had a busy weekend, and... I’m sorry.”

She holds the wand delicately in one hand and taps the fingers of her other against the metal beam. “Was it all just words, what you said on Friday night, or did you mean any of it? Because honestly, Albus, I’m really not sure right now.”

Albus crouches down on the beam and carefully sits a few metres from her. He doesn’t especially want to shuffle all the way along to sit next to her. It’s a very long drop. “I meant every word,” he says softly. “And what I said was that it isn’t a choice, for me.”

She looks round at him. “You threw your identity away. You can’t be Sev anymore. You don’t have any options now. I’m worried for you.”

Albus nods. “I know that. I do.” He curls his fingers round the metal beam. “It scares me. Just being Albus is... I suppose it’s a bit exposing. I’m scared of how the race will go tonight. I don’t even know if I can race as Albus, but...” He swallows and stares down at his knees, hair falling into his eyes. “It feels like the right thing to do and I want to try it.”

“The whole world knows now, Albus,” she says, twisting round to face him. “You didn’t even do this slowly. You stood there in Diagon Alley and yelled it to everyone. I mean talk about unsubtle. It was reckless and really really stupid. You have no control anymore. They have everything they need on you.”

Albus frowns. “Who’s they? And you know me, Delphi, reckless is my middle name.”

Delphi swings her feet up under her and turns to face him, crouching low to the beam, arms out, perfectly balanced. “They is everyone. People who want to hurt you. Your dad, for starters. Other racers, any enemies you might have, I mean you _are_ a Potter. You’d be a great target.”

Albus shakes his head. “My dad doesn’t want to hurt me. And I don’t care about all the rest of them, Delphi. They can do whatever they want to me, but as long as I’m happy they’ll never really touch me. And I am, Delphi. I’m happy. In a way I don’t think I have been for a long time.”

She rises to her feet, wobbling slightly as she does, then straightens herself up and crosses her arms. “Have you noticed,” she says, in a voice hard as steel, “that we always end up talking about you in these conversations? This friendship is one-sided. I don’t think you even care about me.” She flicks her ponytail over her shoulder. “All I’ve ever done is want the best for you, Albus. I saved you when you were miserable, I made you into a star, I gave you a future, and when you were injured I saved your life. But here we are, still talking about you, what you want, what you did over the weekend, who you’re in love with. I’m not a factor here, am I? You don’t really give a shit about my life, my feelings, my opinion, any of it.”

Albus stares up at her, mouth open. “Delphi,” he breathes. “I... that’s not true.”

“Oh,” she says. “Isn’t it? When was the last time you asked me how my weekend was?”

“It’s not that I-“ Albus lifts his chin. “I used to ask,” he says. “I used to ask all the time, but you always refused to answer, so I gave up. If I asked what you did would you tell me?”

“That’s not the point,” Delphi says. “The point is that-“

Albus gets to his feet, wobbling as he does. He’s taller than her. Up here he feels taller than anyone or anything. He understands why she likes it up here. It makes him feel powerful.

“The point is that I tell you everything,” Albus says. “You know my name, you know my troubles, you know what I want from my future, you know how I feel about Scorpius and my parents. You’ve seen me at the worst moments in my life.” He takes a tentative step towards her. “I’ve shared things with you that I’ve told no one else. And what have you told me? Nothing. I didn’t even know your surname until this weekend.”

Delphi’s eyes widen. “My surname? How do you-“

“Black,” he says. “Delphini Black. It’s nice to meet you.”

Her eyes snap back to their ferocious slits and she glares at him. “Your boyfriend has been poking around, hasn’t he?”

“He’s doing his job,” Albus says.

“He’s ruining your life,” Delphi counters. “ _Our_ life.”

“It was just a surname.” Albus digs his hands into his pockets. “Why couldn’t you even share your surname with me, Delphi? If I’m your best friend why wouldn’t you tell me your name?”

“Why have you never told me where you live?” Delphi asks, pointing her wand at him. It’s not a direct, threatening point, far more lazy and casual, but Albus still takes a step back, eyeing it.

“I wanted one thing in my life to myself,” he says softly. “I didn’t tell anyone. I wanted... I wanted to be able to really disappear. I wanted to be safe.”

“Safe from me?”

Albus shakes his head. “Safe from the world. Safe from pressure and people and racing and the past and the future and... Just safe. Somewhere I could be myself. Why did you not tell me your surname?”

“You couldn’t be yourself with me?” Delphi asks, ignoring his question.

“That’s not what I said, I-“ Albus takes a deep breath. “Look. When I ran away I was seventeen. I was playing at being myself. I still am, Delphi. I... I am everything with you that I know how to be. I follow your rules, I try to make you happy, I win for you. I’m your Sev. But sometimes it’s nice to be... I don’t know. Sometimes it’s nice to play at being Albus’s Albus. Somewhere where no one will see, and I can fuck up and be happy and just exist.”

“But that makes no sense,” Delphi says, with a frustrated, disbelieving little laugh. “If my Sev and your Albus are different then you’ve been lying to me all along.”

Albus shakes his head. “No. At least you knew my Albus existed. I told you all his dreams. All _my_ dreams. But my Delphi and your Delphini Black? I had no idea they were different people. I didn’t know Delphini Black was a part of you. I-“ He runs his hands through his hair. “You’re my best friend, Delphi. I was so happy to have a best friend I could trust when I met you. Someone who really understood me. Someone I could share everything with. But sharing goes two ways, doesn’t it?” He takes two steps towards Delphi and reaches out a hand to her. “I want to know you, Delphi, because I don’t think I do anymore. Introduce me to Delphini Black. What does she want? What do you want? What is the future you’re making?”

Delphi looks at his hand for several long seconds, then she inhales through her nose and looks at his face instead. “Delphini Black isn’t important, _Albus_. I’m Delphi to you. Delphi who saved your life, Delphi who made you who you are now. Delphini Black isn’t a person you need to see. She’s an illusion. And her future isn’t my future.”

“Then what is your future?” Albus asks, withdrawing his hand and screwing it into a fist.

Delphi glances sideways, out at the stadium. “Tonight my future is you winning in front of the Rowles. Tomorrow will depend on how tonight goes. That’s it, Albus. Delphi’s future is day by day. There is no grand plan. Just racing and winning and staying alive.”

Albus swallows. “But I don’t... understand, then.” He reaches behind his back and rubs a hand against his shoulder where his tiny wing tattoo is etched onto his skin. “Why is this so important if your future is day by day? Aren’t the wings about your master plan? Your vision of your life? Or are they an illusion too?”

“You can live day by day and still have your future in your hands,” Delphi says. “I would have thought you’d understand that reckless spontaneity better than anyone.”

Albus frowns. “I do, but... I thought the wings were a call to be better than that. More organised. More driven...”

Delphi shrugs. “Maybe they are to you. The wings are whatever you need them to be.”

Albus bows his head and rubs his shoulder blade. Finally, after several seconds of reflection he looks up at her.

“I’ve invited Scorpius to tonight’s race,” he says. “I’d like you to meet him. My best friend and my boyfriend. I’d like to introduce two of the most important people in my life. That’s my future tonight. Will you do it?”

Delphi twirls her wand, expression impenetrable. “You invited a Ministry official to our race.”

“As my guest,” Albus says. “Will you do it?”

Delphi gives an exasperated sigh and tucks her wand away, shaking her head. “Fine. I’ll do it. But he’d better not go poking around. If he’s your guest he’d better behave. This is Sev’s world, not Albus’s. He can’t get too comfortable here.”

”I hate to break it to you,” Albus says. “But Sev’s world is Albus’s now, and Scorpius is going to be part of it for the foreseeable future, so I hope you can get used to him.” He turns towards the ladder, putting his back to Delphi. “I’ll see you when Scorpius gets here. I hope you can manage to be civil.” And then, fuming, he starts to climb back down into the bowels of the stadium, leaving Delphi alone in her rooftop eyrie.

When the other racers start to arrive, Albus begins to get twitchy. He’s already changed into his racing gear, and he’s flown a couple of warm up laps around the pitch to let off some steam, so now he’s sitting and waiting with nothing to distract him from the fact that all his colleagues probably now know his name.

Jamal is the first to arrive. He strolls into the room and gives Albus a bright smile. “Afternoon, Sev. You’re early.”

Albus nervously returns the smile. “I had to talk to Delphi about some stuff. I might have got here too early though...”

Jamal grins and starts unpacking his bag. “Two hours before the race and ready to go? You might have been.” He hangs his jacket up in the stall and kicks his shoes off. “Did you see the news at the weekend? That Albus guy is back. I still don’t get where he’s been all this time though... What do you think about the bewitchment theory, Sev?”

Relief floods through Albus as he realises that this means at least one of his fellow racers doesn’t know. He hasn’t been recognised. He’s still safe.

“I don’t know,” he says cheerfully, mood improving instantly. “Maybe he’s come back because he really is in love?”

“Do people really do that sort of thing?” Jamal asks, pulling a sceptical face.

“Yes,” Albus says, “I think they do.”

It’s another hour before Scorpius arrives. When he finally does, Albus has been standing by the gates jittering with nerves for fifteen minutes already, convincing himself that Scorpius definitely isn’t going to come, that he’ll have backed out at the last minute, that asking him to a race was the stupidest thing Albus could have possibly done.

But then, suddenly, there he is, climbing the winding, lantern-lit path up from the harbour with a sparkling view of the sunset over the sea behind him. Albus melts at the sight and skips the few steps to meet him, beaming.

“Scorpius!” He leaps at Scorpius, who by some miracle manages to catch him, and Albus wraps his legs round his waist and kisses him hard, not caring who sees, because this might yet end up being one of his favourite race nights ever.

The blissful romance doesn’t last long. Scorpius forgets that he can’t use his hands while he’s holding Albus up, and Albus ends up tumbling onto the grass by the edge of the path and banging his knee.

“Ow,” he says, sitting up and rubbing it. “What was that for?”

Scorpius crouches down next to him. “Sorry. Albus, you really should have known that was going to happen. I’m me. I can’t be relied upon to hold you up. Frankly I’m amazed it lasted as long as it did, and you should be too.”

“I’m injured,” Albus groans as dramatically as he can, rolling onto his back and covering his face with his hand. “You’ve ruined me.”

Scorpius rolls his eyes and kisses his hand before pressing it to Albus’s knee. “There. All better now.” He gets up and offers Albus a hand. “Here.”

Albus lets Scorpius pull him, staggering forwards and leaning on Scorpius to steady himself. He limps a step before deciding that he’s had worse injuries. His knee will live.

“You’re not wearing your robes,” he says, giving his knee one last rub and glancing at Scorpius.

“I’m not an idiot,” Scorpius says. “Sky blue isn’t exactly the best camouflage colour. I don’t want everyone turning on me.” He looks Albus up and down. “Is this what you wear to race?”

Albus glances down at his dragon hide and nods. “It’s the best way to prevent burns. Obviously it doesn’t always work, but it helps.”

Scorpius nods appreciatively. “I think I’m going to like it here.”

Albus smirks and takes him by the hand. “Come in, I’ll show you around.”

Scorpius just nods, apparently speechless.

They manage a little bit of a tour before they get distracted. Albus shows Scorpius the bowels of the stadium, the trophy cabinets and photos and boards of names, but then they get lost in the deserted visitors changing room and emerge half an hour before the race. Albus’s hair is more ruffled than it was, and he’s still trying to tuck his shirt back into his trousers, and cursing the fact that his fly is made of fiddly little buttons rather than a zip.

“Are you alright there?” Scorpius asks. “Do you need a hand?”

Albus shakes his head. “If you give me a hand we’ll miss the race. No, I’m fine. I’m exceptional.” He looks at Scorpius and his frustration with his buttons melts away as he gives Scorpius a brilliant smile. “It’s... it’s really nice having you here.”

Scorpius grins at him. “Well you’re certainly making the most of it so far.”

“Maybe if I win we’ll have to finish the tour upstairs later.” He finally finishes buttoning his trousers and winks at Scorpius before turning and waltzing away down the corridor. “You should probably go and find your seat now.”

“Probably,” Scorpius squeaks in a choked little voice behind him.

It’s incredible how full the stadium is, Scorpius thinks as he stares around at the crowd. This place isn’t exactly small, but somehow a band of renegade broom racers have managed to pack it to the rafters. He supposes everyone is here for the thrills and spills, the danger of it all, and it certainly looks both thrilling and dangerous.

The racers are massed on the pitch, staring up as a couple of judges on brooms soar among a set of huge iron cages that are suspended in mid-air, setting light to them with raging, snapping bursts of Fiendfyre. The cages must be enchanted, because the beasts in the flames are constrained within, roaring through the bars, angered by their imprisonment, sending spectacular red and orange and black light swirling across the pitch.

It looks terrifying, and Scorpius can’t help but remember the heat of Fiendfyre at his back, claws and teeth snapping at his heels, faces of dragons and serpents looming up at him. How Albus managed to handle being inside that house, how he manages to race everyday, when he’s been so badly hurt by the fire Scorpius has no idea. Not for the first time he wonders how Albus ended up in Slytherin at school. He has such a quiet, solid courage to him. He keeps going when any lesser person would have run away screaming. Scorpius will never stop admiring him for that.

The final cage blazes with light and the crowd around Scorpius roars their approval. He grips his seat and leans forward, straining to try and see Albus among the group on the ground. They’re all so far away that it’s difficult to spot him, but as soon as the racers mount their brooms, Albus becomes obvious.

He’s like a streak of lighting, shooting off for a lap around the pitch. He’s tiny, powerful; so quick. He looks like he belongs in the air, like flying is so much easier for him than being on the ground. It’s breathtaking, and Scorpius feels his heart swell with every second he watches.

Albus invited him here to see this. Albus wanted him to see this part of his life, a part that he’s never seen before. Albus wanted to share this with him. Clearly this is what he loves, what he’s incredible at, and Scorpius understands instantly that it’s an honour for him to be here. Tonight, if he wasn’t in love with Albus enough already, he’s going to fall head over heels.

Everything after that is a blur. He forgets that he’s supposed to be here investigating and gets swept up in the race. Next thing he knows, he’s on his feet jumping up and down and screaming for Albus, who’s somehow managed to fall to the back of the pack.

“What are you doing?” He yells. “Fly faster! Go on!”

It quickly becomes clear that Albus is just messing with them all. Apparently he’s so good at this, and so confident in his speed and skill, that he can put on a show.

As the racers go into a dive, he drops like a stone beneath them drawing gasps from the crowd, and overtaking half the field in one go. He uses the next turn to slingshot himself past the rest, and goes soaring into third place.

On the stadium wall behind him is a huge, close up of his face that keeps blurring in and out of focus because he’s moving so fast. The expression there makes Scorpius’s heart race, because as focused and determined as Albus is clearly being, he’s also grinning, eyes shining with joy. This is all a game to him. He’s playing with the rest of the field, and none of them are anywhere close to him.

As he rounds another corner, brushing heart-stoppingly close to one of the cages, he looks up and directly into whichever camera is pinpointed on him. For a moment his gaze pierces Scorpius who forgets how to breathe. He has to grip the edge of his box for support, and by the time the world realigns itself, Albus has shot past two more people and is bearing down on the only person left in front of him.

All around Scorpius, people are on their feet, screaming for Sev, urging him on. There’s not a person in the stadium who isn’t rooting for him, and Scorpius stands for a moment and listens to the noise with pride, because whether they know it or not, all these people are cheering for his boyfriend. They’re cheering for Albus. They’re all on Albus’s side.

Albus is gaining, inch by inch, lying flat on his broom, moving so fast that he’s a blur. Scorpius jumps up and down.

“Come on! Go go go! You’re nearly there! Get him!”

He’s yelling so loud his throat is going hoarse but he doesn’t care. There’s not much of the race left. There’s not enough space for Albus to overtake surely? He’s still a foot behind, half a foot, a few inches, gaining, clawing his opponent back.

“Yes!” Scorpius screeches, holding onto the edge of the box. “Come on, Albus. Go on! You can- Ooo...”

The whole stadium gasps as the two racers shoot across the line, side by side, neck and neck. It’s impossible to separate the two of them, and they were moving so fast that they were nothing but a blur.

“It’s a photo finish for first place,” the commentator crows. “Everybody watch the board.”

The stadium falls silent as everyone stares up at the wall of the stadium. The two racers streak out of nowhere and stop suddenly, right in the middle of the wall, suspended in time. A red line, like a streak of flame, slashes across the photo, and the crowd gasps again as they realise what it means. Sev has been beaten by a fraction of an inch.

There’s a second of shock before people begin to applaud, and slowly cheering spreads through the stadium. Albus flies over to his competitor, hand outstretched, and they clap each other on the back, Albus laughing at something that’s been said. He looks so carefree and happy; it’s beautiful.

The two of them sink back to the ground, and they’re soon joined by other racers, sixteen in all, who get to race again. The commentator on the ground is running between them, casting a Sonorus Charm on each and asking questions. Scorpius doesn’t really listen to what’s said until the commentator comes to Albus last of all.

“So, Sev.”

Albus grins. “So.”

“You lost.”

Albus’s grin widens and he laughs. “I did, didn’t I.”

“Does it sting a little bit?”

Albus shrugs. “Not really. It was only a heat. And if I won every race it would get a bit boring, don’t you think? I like to keep things interesting. If I lose every now and again it keeps you all on your toes.” His eyes sparkle as he says it, and the whole stadium cheers with delight as Scorpius melts inside.

Albus is an entertainer. Albus is a star. Albus is incredible.

Scorpius cups his hands to his mouth and whoops, beaming down at the pitch. Albus must hear because he glances up in Scorpius’s direction and shoots him a smile and wave. Scorpius has no idea if Albus can actually see him, but he blows Albus a kiss just in case, then collapses back into his seat, grinning and hugging himself and feeling like a giddy teenage boy again.

He gets a couple of races to recover after that. The heats are run in groups of four, and Albus is in the third group. Even without Albus the racing is exciting, but it’s not quite so heart-stoppingly terrifying. Scorpius enjoys it, but he also has a look around the stadium to see what’s going on and to see if he can recognise anyone from their case files.

Most of the people he recognises are the racers gathered on the pitch, sitting on benches and chatting as the race goes on above them. He recognises a medic too, and a couple of other managers and league officials. It’s only when he starts to scan the crowd that he spots a very familiar, silver-haired figure in a box on the same level as him. Delphini Black.

It’s her hair that makes her so distinctive, silver, with blue tips, swept up in a messy ponytail that sways and bobs behind her head. She’s wearing a dress today, and since she has her back to the crowd Scorpius can see that it’s open, exposing all her skin as well as a familiar tattoo. Her wings are identical to Albus’s, but so much more impressive, covering her whole back. Even from this distance, Scorpius can tell that the work on them is intricate and beautiful, and he can fully understand why she’d want to show them off.

He shifts his gaze away from her and squints, trying to see the other inhabitants of the box. Everyone else isn’t instantly recognisable, but there’s something familiar about each and every face. Scorpius can’t place them, but they make him feel uneasy. He’s pretty sure that if he knew those names he wouldn’t be happy about it.

There’s not much time to dwell on it though, because the third heat is ready to go and he switches his full attention back to Albus. He can worry about Delphi and her supporters later.

The heat is much faster than the mass start race. The racers are far less unencumbered; they all have plenty of space in the air to do whatever they want. Albus is still the fastest though, by quite a decent margin. In fact it seems to be an effortless victory.

Right from the gun he’s out in front, soaring ahead of the field. The others catch up a bit on the straights and round the corners, but as soon as they have to dive he’s untouchable.

Albus’s dives are reckless and breath-taking. He seems to be completely unafraid as he goes bombing out of the sky and straight at the ground. There are moments when it looks like he’s falling rather than flying. If any of those dives took any longer than a blink of an eye then Scorpius would be hiding his face in his hands, but there’s no time for that. All he can do is stare, transfixed, unable to look away, certain he’s about to witness Albus’s death. But he never does, because somehow, for all that recklessness, Albus is always in total control.

Albus wins the heat with ease, all the dives giving him a clear margin of victory, and he does a little loop-the-loop to celebrate, that has the crowd laughing and applauding. Scorpius sits back down and tries to recover. Watching Albus race, while exhilarating, is not good for his heart.

While he’s sitting there trying to get his breath back – Albus looks like he’s barely broken a sweat so far, and Scorpius is quite envious – he turns his attention back to Delphi’s box. It’s still full of people, and still none of them are watching the racing. They all seem to be deep in conversation, and Scorpius can’t stop himself from feeling as if this is a conversation he should be listening to. Delphi is gesticulating wildly, and it looks from a distance like tensions in the box are running high.

A few years ago, when he still had hopes of establishing a career with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Scorpius managed to sign up for a surveillance training course that he definitely shouldn’t have been allowed on. He still has no idea how he managed to get approved for it, but by some miracle he did, and now that miracle is going to come in handy. He slips his wand from the pocket of his robes, careful to keep it well out of sight, and points it across towards Delphi’s box, whispering the incantation.

His ears buzz immediately with static, and he winces and rubs his fingers into them, trying to clear them, as if that will help when it’s magic making them hurt. It must do something though, because a second later the static clears and, sharp as day but perhaps a little distant, he hears people talking.

“I don’t know how else to make you all understand this,” Delphi is saying, frustration in her voice and in the tension of her distant stance. “He’s reckless and stubborn and a law unto himself. This can’t go on much longer. We got ourselves to a good place and now it’s all unravelling and you can’t even help speed things up. I don’t know why I bothered asking for help.”

Someone towards the back of the box sighs, a man with a rich, deep voice that Scorpius swears he heard at a party once, but he can’t be sure. “Delphi. There’s a lot that isn’t ready yet. We can’t go in all guns blazing and hope for the best. They’re too well prepared.”

“Are they?” Delphi asks. “They’ve always seemed ridiculously complacent to me. They’re not on top of anything, I know that for a fact. But they are getting there, and the longer we mess around for-“

“Putting people into position is not messing around,” says a blonde woman near the front of the box, who Scorpius instantly recognises as one of the Rowles, Evelyn.

“Perhaps, but the longer it takes the more we lose the key piece,” Delphi says.

A blond man to her right, another Rowle, leans against the wall and glances back at the racers. “Can’t you be more persuasive? It can’t be that difficult, can it? After ten years?”

“I’m trying to... isolate the problem,” Delphi says. “But it’s not proving easy.”

Evelyn snorts. “Romance is sickening. It’s only just been a week and they’re already declaring their love.” She pulls a face, and Delphi nods.

“There’s too much there to compete with. And if we don’t move fast then I’m going to lose everything I’ve spent ten years working on. If I can’t get him alone, permanently alone, then-“

The spell crumbles into static again, accompanied by a screaming, ringing shriek that feels like it’s burst Scorpius’s eardrums. He cuts the spell off and covers his ears as the crowd roars and a fireball comes tumbling out of the sky, thrown by one of the judges. He bows his head and tries to draw in deep breaths, reeling from the pain and trying to process what he thinks he’s just heard.

The words echo around inside his head. ‘Isolate the problem...’ ‘Romance is sickening...’ ‘If I can’t get him alone, permanently alone...’

He knows what they’re talking about. It’s not exactly hard to work out. It’s about him. It’s about Albus. And it’s about some sort of plan that Scorpius hasn’t heard about before. The plan relies on Albus though – his loyalty – and it sounds as though Delphi thinks that Scorpius is interfering with that.

‘If I can’t get him alone, permanently alone...’

Scorpius gulps in a breath and lifts his head. Albus is in the air again, rocketing around the stadium with a big grin on his face. He doesn’t know about this, that much is clear. He has no idea that Delphi is planning something, or that he’s a problem to be isolated. He doesn’t know that Delphi has now tried to kill him and Scorpius – or maybe just Scorpius – twice and is trying to plan a third attempt. He’s blissfully ignorant up in the sky, lost in his racing. Happy, as he should be.

Scorpius looks back towards the box. The safest way forward from here is to do this himself. If he tries to attract Albus’s attention and let him know he’s in danger, Delphi will know, but if Albus keeps racing she’s far less likely to notice that Scorpius has disappeared. And if Scorpius manages to disappear then there are probably clues to be found somewhere in this stadium, among Delphi’s belongings, her notes, anything he can find to prove that he just heard what he thinks he did.

He sits and waits for a moment. The conversation in the box seems to have momentarily died down. A couple of the inhabitants are watching the racing, but Delphi is hovering around, watching not the stadium but the door to the box. Curious, Scorpius starts staring at it too, wondering what she’s waiting for.

He’s not disappointed. A few seconds later the door opens and a man he definitely recognises walks in. Grey-haired, wasted more by his long years of imprisonment than he is by age, Rodolphus Lestrange inches into the box. Delphi instantly goes to him and embraces him, guiding him to a seat and crouching down next to him so they can talk.

And if there was some possibility of Delphi being ignorant of the history surrounding the other people in the box, and if there was a possibility of them having walked away from their recent family history, there’s no such possibility with Rodolphus Lestrange. He may be out of Azkaban but he’s still being closely watched by the Ministry. He still holds many of his former views, and regularly expresses them. The only reason he hasn’t been locked up again already is because he’s never been part of any larger conspiracies or attacks, and because he’s so frail now that imprisonment might kill him, and him being a martyr for the cause is the last thing anyone wants.

Scorpius points his wand at the box and tries his surveillance spell again, but now the races are getting more important there’s too much Fiendfyre flying around, and the static from the powerful dark magic keeps disrupting the spell. There’s only one thing for it. Scorpius is going to have to get closer, and keep an eye out for any useful evidence along the way. He waits until Delphi and Rodolphus are deep in conversation and the race is in full swing, then he pockets his wand, and slips out of his own box and into the deserted corridors of the stadium beyond, hoping that no one notices him leave.

It’s not hard to find his way towards Delphi’s box. What’s more difficult is working out which box she’s in, because from the outside they all look the same and he doesn’t know her box number.

He follows the curve of the corridor until he thinks he’s nearly on the opposite side of the stadium from where he started. There he starts pausing by the door to every box, listening to try and work out who’s inside.

Most of them are empty or silent. From some he can hear cheering and whooping, even people shouting for Sev. The racing must be heating up – hopefully not literally – and Scorpius wishes he knew what was happening out there, but he has no way of finding out, and right now, unfortunately, Delphi is more important.

He presses himself against the wall and pauses outside another box, listening intently, holding his breath and trying to quieten his heartbeat. There’s no sound from inside. Not that one.

He tiptoes down to the next and holds his breath again, but there’s only cheering from this one too. He draws his wand to cast a surveillance spell, just to check that this definitely isn’t the right box, but as he does a door clicks open down the hall and he flattens himself against the wall, straining to see round the bend in the corridor. A flash of blue and silver hair is all he sees as Delphi closes the door to her box and disappears down the corridor away from him.

For several seconds he stands there, stock still, not daring to move or breathe in case Delphi hears and comes back. He clenches his fists and closes his eyes, hoping the blood rushing in his ears isn’t really as loud as it sounds to him. Only after several seconds of silence does he finally relax and take a step into the corridor to check that the coast is clear, and thankfully it is.

Now he faces a choice. Following her round the corridor would be risky; it’s so open and exposed, and there’s every chance she would hear him. But if he goes back the other way what’s he gaining? Finding out where she’s going might be really important. He can’t do that if he just lets her go.

Chasing someone who he suspects might want to kill him through the deserted corridors of a Quidditch stadium might be one of the most stupid things he’s ever done, but he does it anyway. Maybe having Albus in his life is making him more reckless, or maybe this is just what happens when he has some responsibility in his job. Either way, he keeps his body pressed to the wall, casts a Disillusionment Charm over himself, and starts flitting from doorway to doorway, trying to keep Delphi in his sight.

It takes him about three minutes to lose her completely. He manages to stick close by as they go down the corridor, but then she goes through a side door that leads through to some sort of private area, with staircases leading up and down and another door leading straight ahead. Even when he stands and strains his ears for any sound of where she might have gone he can’t hear her, so in the end he has to make a wild guess, and he chooses to go up.

The stairs weren’t a good idea. They’re metal, and in the tight space, boxed in by four hard concrete walls, everything echoes. The first step Scorpius takes clangs painfully loud, and he stops dead, wincing, until the noise fades. After that he proceeds with much more caution, inching his way up the stairs, and casting Silencio on every step. It’s not the perfect solution, and it’s such slow going that he knows he’ll never catch Delphi now, but at least he’s moving and not clattering around loud enough to give himself away.

He goes up one flight of stairs, pauses to listen, then goes up a second before he decides that he’s well and truly lost Delphi, so he might as well go exploring instead. This time he goes out of the door that leads away from the Quidditch Pitch and off into the backstage parts of the stadium.

It’s clear immediately that he has no idea where he’s going and that he would never have managed to follow Delphi through here. It’s a warren of corridors, little rooms, maintenance walkways, pipes and vents, and in some places he even finds himself climbing across the very structure of the stadium.

He’s not scared of heights, but it’s a long drop into darkness below, and even the few maintenance lights and a Lumos spell don’t let him see the bottom. He clings to the railing of the narrow bridge he’s found himself on and steps one foot carefully in front of another.

He loses track of time and distance as he walks. It’s difficult to tell where he is in relation to where he started. Has he done a full lap of the stadium yet? Or has he barely got started? Everything is so chaotic back here that it’s impossible to tell. And then there’s the disconnection from time. Stupidly he didn’t bring a watch with him, and he’s so far back from the pitch now that he can’t hear anything. It’s painfully still back here apart from a quiet, crackling hum of whatever spell is working to power lights and heat and goodness knows what else. Anything could be happening outside – the meet could already be over and Albus could be waiting for him. He simply has no idea.

He walks down a short corridor, across a broad walkway, then a couple of interlinked narrow bridges, then through a door into a low, dark room, and out into another longer corridor.

It’s there that he hears it. A door slams behind him and he jumps and looks round, holding his wand up to light the path. The doors he just came through were shut. He knows they were because he held them to make sure they didn’t slam like that.

Everything is silent. Everything is still.

He draws in a long breath to try and calm his pounding heart, then he sets off walking again, down the corridor, through a door, onto another set of maintenance bridges. There are footsteps behind him, distant but undeniable. He turns and shines his light into the darkness but it doesn’t penetrate far enough into the gloom to see anyone.

“Albus?” He calls, and his voice echoes, the stadium calling Albus’s name back to him a hundred times, but there’s no other answer.

He clenches his fingers tight around his wand and presses on, walking with more purpose now, no longer trying to stay silent. If someone is following him they already know where he is. There’s no point hiding now.

The footsteps speed up behind him, keeping pace, growing closer. Scorpius’s heart is in his mouth as he speeds up further, not bothering to mind his step on the next narrow bridge.

His foot slips and he grabs the railing for support, almost dropping his wand into the darkness below. His heart beats wildly in his chest and he can’t quite manage to catch his breath as he grips the handle of his wand and plants his feet on solid ground. But there’s no time for celebrating being alive. The footsteps are still coming.

He breaks into a run and throws himself through the next door ahead of him. It bangs hard against the wall and slams behind him but he doesn’t care. Once he’s through he looks around wildly, hoping for another door branching sideways, maybe out to another set of stairs or a room, but there’s nothing, so he keeps running.

He’s jogging now, through the guts of the stadium, wondering if he should be trying to shield himself – how close would someone have to be back here to try and curse him?

There’s another door ahead of him. Maybe he should go through there and try to barricade himself in. Could he get a message to Albus? Maybe a Patronus or... Or he could try the spell that Harry gave him. Aurors would be able to take out one lone person easily. Once he’s through here he’ll assess his options.

He bursts through the door and looks to both sides. There are two other doors in this corridor, merciful escape routes. He can hide in either and wait for the person to go past. Perfect.

He throws himself at the one on his right and finds that it’s locked, so he tries the one on the left and goes sprawling through head first, right into-

“Scorpius?” Albus asks, frowning down at him. “What are you doing up here? Are you okay?” He reaches down to offer Scorpius a hand up.

“No!” Scorpius says. “No there’s someone following me, we need to-“

The door into the corridor bursts open and Delphi is there. She looks at Scorpius, looks at Albus, and her expression turns thunderous. “What are you two doing?”

Albus grins at her. “I was looking for you! And Scorpius, of course. You missed the final.”

Scorpius scrambles to his feet and stares at Delphi. She’s tucking her wand away, adjusting her hair, and then her dark, crackling expression turns to sunshine. “Sorry, Albus. I had to come up here and grab something I left behind earlier.” With her back to Albus she gives Scorpius a long, pointed look that makes him shiver, and she goes to the locked door and opens it up with a silent spell.

“Well,” Albus says, looking between the two of them. “I won, so...” He puts a hand on Scorpius’s arm and steps closer to him, lowering his voice. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Scorpius nods, pats his hair back into place, and tucks his wand away, nodding. “Sure. Definitely.” He gives Albus a smile. “So you won? I’m sorry I missed it.”

Albus takes one last long look between him and Delphi, then breaks into a broad smile. “Me too. I was brilliant, if I say so myself.”

Scorpius takes his hand. “Tell me about it?”

Albus squeezes his hand tight. “Of course. But first...” He turns to Delphi. “Delphi, this is my boyfriend, Scorpius. Scorpius, this is Delphi.”

Scorpius looks at her and gives what he hopes is a friendly smile. “Hi, it’s... it’s nice to meet you.”

She replies with a look so ice cold it makes Scorpius shiver. “Yes,” she says. “Likewise.”

“So why were you up near Delphi’s perch?” Albus asks later, when they’re sitting side by side at the end of the harbour wall, staring at the endless oblivion of star-studded sky, and inky black wind-ruffled sea, neither of them wanting to be the first one to leave and go home.

Scorpius kicks his heels against the stonework beneath him and shakes his head, trying to work out what to say. “I just...” He pauses for a moment too long, choosing his words too carefully. “I remembered that I was meant to be investigating.”

“So you went into maintenance areas and ended up running into me like you were scared out of your mind,” Albus says, giving him a look. “What happened back there? You weren’t running from Delphi, were you?”

Scorpius looks at him. “While you were racing, I-“ He stops and takes a breath. Albus uses the break to poke him in the arm and grin at him.

“You?”

Scorpius swallows. “I overheard some stuff, Albus. It wasn’t great... They – Delphi and the people with her – they were talking about... well, I don’t know for sure. But it sounded an awful lot like they were talking about you, about us, about something they were planning.”

“Right...” Albus says slowly.

Scorpius nods. “I think they were talking about... I think I might be messing things up for them. By being here.”

Albus frowns. “By being here tonight? But you’re my guest. And what could they possibly be getting up to tonight?”

“No,” Scorpius says, bracing his hands on the harbour wall and staring down at the eddies and swirls of the waves lapping at the stonework just beneath his dangling feet. “No, I don’t mean tonight. I mean in general.” He looks at Albus. “They don’t want me here. They don’t want me around you. I’m guessing that the Dementors and the fire-“

Albus shakes his head. “No. No way. No.” He shakes his head again, even more firmly, then gives a disbelieving little laugh. “Why would you think Delphi’s trying to kill you? She didn’t even meet you until tonight. Anyway you’re you. And she knows how important you are to me.”

“I think,” Scorpius murmurs, “that that might be part of the problem...”

“And do you know what I think?” Albus says, squeezing his hand.

Scorpius looks at him. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re getting jumpy,” Albus says. “After everything that’s happened, I get it. But really, Scorpius. Delphi is just Delphi. She gets weirdly territorial, she makes plans. It’s what she does.”

Scorpius gently extracts his hand from Albus’s grip and stares out across the sea. “Did you know Rodolphus Lestrange was in her box?” He asks.

Albus’s gaze snaps to him in an instant. “What?”

Scorpius nods. “ _The_ Rodolphus Lestrange. Crazy Death Eater Rodolphus Lestrange. Devoted husband of Bellatrix, servant of Voldemort, Rodolphus Lestrange.”

Albus opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, then he shakes his head. “You were on the other side of the stadium. Maybe you didn’t see clearly, or...” He stares at Scorpius. “Are you sure?”

Scorpius looks at him and nods. “I promise. I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t certain.”

“But why would Delphi...” Albus bows his head, face falling, and Scorpius doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Albus shakes his head. “No, no, I...” He glances up at Scorpius, forehead creased with worry. “Scorpius,” he says softly. “What if... what if you’re right? What if she is trying to... What if something’s going on? All these people she talks to, and the plans, and... I don’t think she’s a bad person, she’s my friend, but what if she’s, I don’t know, bewitched, or... What do we do?”

“I’m going to get evidence,” Scorpius says. “I need to find something concrete. I can’t prove anything that happened today. And if you want me to be honest? That’s why I was up there. Looking for proof. I didn’t find any, but there must be some somewhere, and if there is then I’ll find it. I’ll find it and I’ll work out who’s trying to hurt us, whether it’s Delphi or one of her group, or...”

Albus reaches out and puts a hand on Scorpius’s arm. “Please be careful? I can’t lose Delphi, but I think... I think losing you again would be worse.”

Scorpius takes hold of his hand and nods. “I promise.” He kisses the back of Albus’s hand, and Albus nods.

“Good...”

“And I am sorry,” Scorpius says. “That I didn’t see you win the race. Watching you tonight was...” He shakes his head and searches for the right word. “You’re extraordinary.”

Albus’s cheeks go pink and his eyes shine in the starlight. “Thanks. I had a lot of fun tonight. It made me...” He looks down at his knees. “It made me sad that you’re going to shut it all down.”

Scorpius looks across at him. “What will you do if- _when_ it gets shut down?”

Albus shrugs and suddenly he looks very small, all hunched in on himself, like he’s lost in his own skin without flying to define him. “I don’t know. I... I don’t know.”

“Have you thought about it?” Scorpius asks softly.

Albus glances at him. “I... I left home to find myself,” he murmurs. “But sometimes I feel more lost than ever these days. Is that stupid? I think I always assumed I’d die in a race or in training, or... But now I’ve started imagining the future. A future with you, my parents, Lily and James... I don’t know what the future is or what I want it to be, I just sort of know who I want in it.” He gives Scorpius a little smile. “I guess I have a lot to think about.”

Scorpius leans across and hugs Albus tightly, squeezing his small, strong body in his arms. “If you ever need help thinking about it you can talk to me. I have some experience of reimagining life overnight.”

Albus hugs him tighter and buries his face in his shoulder. “I love you,” he murmurs. “And I’m still sorry.”

Scorpius brushes his fingers through Albus’s hair. “I’m sorry too,” he whispers.


	11. Scythe

_Delphi is bored of scrambling over rocks. Her hands are cut up, her feet hurt, it’s burning hot in the sun. Nothing is worth this. Yes it’s probably reckless, but she must be far enough from the nearest town by now to just use a tiny bit of magic, surely?_

_She looks around at the deserted mountainside and throws caution to the winds. She doesn’t even need to draw her wand, she just bends her knees and lets the air carry her upwards._

_There’s a strong updraft today, and as she spreads her arms she rises fast, soaring into the blue sky. It would be easy to fly as high as any of these mountains, but that might not endear her to any of the people she’s going to visit. Some of them are wary of magic, and such a display would be more than reckless – it would be idiotic. Instead stays close to the ground, skimming over the rocky ground, toes brushing the occasional bit of scrubby brush that grows up here._

_It’s much faster going by air. What would have taken her another hour to hike only takes ten minutes or so, and soon she’s at the deserted mountaintop she’s been heading towards since sunrise this morning. She sets down at the top of the hill and looks around, taking in the view, and searching for any sign that she’s in the right place. She turns slowly in a circle, and as she does a voice sounds behind her._

_“You asked to talk to us. Talk.”_

_She spins round to face the person who’s spoken. He’s a tall man, wearing a soft, loose blue linen shirt and a pair of threadbare blue denim shorts. His skin is tanned and lined, weatherbeaten, with a smudge of dirt on one cheek. If Delphi didn’t know better she’d think he were a farmer or a vintner or something. Someone who spends a lot of time working out in the sun. There’s something unthreatening about him. But she does know better, and she also knows that this is someone to be threatened by._

_She holds her hands up to show that they’re nowhere near her wand. “I did ask to talk to you,” she says. “I think you worked with my father, or knew people who did. I want to know if you‘d be interested in putting yourselves in an advantageous position within society.”_

_The man stalks around the edge of the mountaintop, eyeing her. “You are very audacious. So young, untested, inexperienced, coming here and telling us that you can give us a position in a world that will be impossible to create.”_

_Delphi steps towards him. “Not impossible. When my father was in power he envisioned the world I’m now looking to put in place. If he saw it then it’s possible.”_

_The man snorts. “Lord Voldemort was powerful, skilful, a visionary leader. Even he couldn’t make it happen. How does a little girl expect to do it?”_

_Delphi folds her arms, trying not to let the sting of his words show. She’s far more than a little girl. She’s a young woman, every bit as bright and talented as her father was, and she’s learned from his mistakes. “There’s a plan in place,” she says. “I don’t need you and your pack to be part of it. There are other people I could have chosen instead. But I thought it would make sense to reward your loyalty, and I know you have contacts, friends. I need to see the giants, the trolls, vampires, goblins, anyone, everyone. For this to work I need an uprising.”_

_The man walks across and perches on the edge of a large rock towards the side of the mountaintop. “The world is improving for people like me. It’s far from perfect of course, but the werewolves in your country, across vast swaths of Europe, are not as poorly treated as we once were. Why should we rise up with people who still think we’re filthy half breeds when we’re making progress with people who are willing to listen?”_

_“People are good at pretending to be tolerant,” Delphi says. “We can give you far more than they will ever be willing to. Believe me. Allies will be rewarded, and I want you as an ally.”_

_The man gets to his feet and comes over to her. He circles her once, and she follows him with her gaze, twisting her head to watch him._

_“I have Harry Potter’s son,” she says. “He’s on my side, which means he will be on our side soon enough. That’s the most powerful weapon we could wish for. We won’t lose this time.”_

_The man stops in front of her and considers her for a long moment. “I’ll think about it,” he says. “We will think about it.”_

_“How long for?” Delphi asks, not moving an inch, solid as the rocks that make up this mountain. “I have other places to go, other people to see. This sort of offer doesn’t remain open for long.”_

_“I’ll be back here tomorrow. Noon. Then I’ll have a decision.”_

_Delphi doesn’t nod, she just looks him straight in the eye. “Noon. I’ll be here.”_

_The man looks back at her, then he gives a curt incline of the head before walking away. He gets several strides across the rocky ground before he pauses and glances back._

_“When you say you have Harry Potter’s son...”_

_Delphi gives him a bright, sparkling smile, already knowing that tomorrow at noon the answer will be yes. “He thinks I’m his best friend. I haven’t even had to enchant him. He’s waiting for me at the bottom of this mountain right now.”_

_The man scrutinises her for a long moment, and she just smiles at him. Finally he turns his back on her and walks away, leaving her alone, windswept, triumphant, to start flying back down the mountain. She’s certain that the answer she gets at noon tomorrow will be a yes._

Scorpius loves going to the library. It’s the one place in the world where everyone else is so wrapped up in their own business that they pay him no attention. He’s safe here, and surrounded by books, which have been his only friends for such a huge part of his life.

He weaves his way through the space, breathing in the scent of crisp paper and binding glue, and watching dust motes dance in the air. The languages section is at the back of the third floor, and he goes there a lot, mostly for fun, rarely on business. The fact that he’s on business today gives him a jittery, excitable sense of purpose. He loves the moments when he gets to feel official.

There’s no one else in the section when he gets there. A serene stillness hums in the air. Scorpius has always thought that libraries hold an incredible magic of their own. There’s so much power in all this knowledge waiting to be unleashed. The potential energy hangs in the air, potent and heady, setting all his senses on edge.

It takes him a while to find the book he’s looking for among the thousands on the shelves, but that doesn’t matter. He’s not on a deadline here. The longer he can spend in this space the better.

Part of the problem is that the book is so small and unmarked. It’s the only book on Parseltongue, stuck next to a large section that looks like Mermish. The most distinguishing feature that marks it out from the rest of the books is the fragile snakeskin jacket wrapped around it. Even if he didn’t know the exact contents, Scorpius would recognise that this is unmistakably a book about serpents.

When he finds the book he gently slides it off the shelf, careful not to damage the jacket, and carries it across to one of the tables. Opening it up, he discovers that the pages are as thin and delicate as tissue paper, and they’re yellowing and crinkled with age. He turns each page individually, with the utmost care and reverence. This book is old, probably unique, and the fading symbols inscribed on every page are beautiful, fascinating, even a little bit sinister. To damage this would be unforgivable.

Once he’s taken his time examining the book he pulls the note from his pocket and sets it down on the table. Instantly he realises that his assumption about it being Parseltongue was completely correct. The symbols on his copy of the note are identical to the twisting, writhing ones that slither across the pages of the book.

He has no idea where to start, he realises as he stares at the two. He doesn’t know this alphabet or anything. This might take hours. Maybe Searching Spells work on Parseltongue, but he’s not sure. He draws his wand and gets to work.

The spell does work but it has limited effect. Whoever wrote the note used a lot of colloquialisms and unfamiliar words. They also had rather poor spelling and grammar. It takes a while for him to piece together enough to make the note intelligible, but eventually he has most of it, with a few words missing here and there.

_Dear D,_

_Thank you for meet two nights ahead. Will come Scythe as told._

_Wish great things ahead. ASP will work out – against HP can’t wait. If only solve SM problem..._

_For SH and brave,_

_E_

Scorpius frowns down at his scribbled translation and tries to make sense of it.

For starters the individual letters have to be names. D is Delphi, ASP can be no one other than Albus, HP must be Harry, and Scorpius is SM. The E and SH are more difficult, but Scorpius isn’t sure how relevant they are.

As for the rest... There’s some sort of meeting at a place called Scythe – he’s heard vaguely of a bar called that in Knockturn Alley, which would make sense. The writer is wishing Delphi luck, telling her that everything with Albus will work out, and something about him being against Harry that Scorpius doesn’t quite understand. Then there it is again, the reference to Scorpius as a problem, even though he hadn’t even met Delphi when this note was written. He must be interfering and interfering hard in whatever plans Delphi has for Albus...

The final bit, without knowing who SH is, makes no sense, and even when he goes and finds a book about former Death Eaters and runs through the list of names there he doesn’t find many people it could be. That part at least will have to remain a nonsensical mystery.

But the rest of it gives him something. Maybe if he can work out what Scythe is, whether it is that bar or not, he’ll have somewhere to search or surveil. Up until now he’s only had a house that’s now burned to the ground, so it would be good to have a concrete location. If only Albus knew where Delphi lived...

He scans the scribbled translation again, looking for anything he might have missed, but he can’t spot anything. It’s so short that it’s difficult to imagine it might contain any hidden meanings, and now he’s understood the gist of what it’s saying he doesn’t know what else to make of it.

It’s another lead. That’s what it is. Another lead, and concrete, written proof of what he overheard at the race: that he’s a problem in whatever plan Delphi has, a problem that needs solving.

He sits and gazes down at the paper for a moment more before deciding that he’s definitely not going to get anything more out of it right now, then he replicates his translation just in case he loses it, tucks the Parseltongue dictionary back on its shelf, and heads home with his mind buzzing.

“You’re very quiet,” Draco says that night, when he and Scorpius are sitting together in the Manor library.

Scorpius has been staring into space for the last five minutes. He’s not reading or working or doing anything. His mind is a whirl of Dementors and flames and chasing footsteps, and his dad’s voice only barely breaks through, enough to make him shake himself.

“What?”

“You’re very quiet this evening,” his dad repeats. “Are you alright? You look like you’re doing an awful lot of thinking.”

“Oh,” Scorpius says. He looks down at his knees. “Sometimes it’s difficult to get my brain to turn off. It’s like someone’s cast a Sonorus Charm on my thoughts, and now they’re so loud I can’t stop hearing them.” He bows his head and rubs his temples. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” Draco asks, turning the page of his book.

Scorpius shakes his head and drops his head from his hands, letting his chin flop onto his chest. “No. Not really.”

Draco hesitates for a moment, then he sets his book aside. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Scorpius lifts his head to look at his dad and blurts it all out in a rush. “Delphi, Albus’s best friend, is up to something, and I don’t think he knows, and I know she knows that I know, and I don’t think she wants me to know. I think she needs Albus for something, and I think she thinks I’m getting in the way, and I think she wants to kill me.”

Draco blinks several times, taken aback by the rush of information. He leans back in his seat and absorbs it for a moment before nodding. “That does sound like something that would stick on your mind. What makes you think she wants to-“ His voice catches in his throat and makes a jerky little movement with his hand instead of finishing the sentence.

Scorpius wraps his arms round his body and fiddles with the sleeve of his pyjama top. “There were the Dementors, there was the house she set on fire, and yesterday at Albus’s race someone was following me. I think it was her, and I think that if she’d caught me she would have done something...”

“Have you told Potter about this?” Draco asks sharply.

“He knows I’m in danger,” Scorpius says softly. “I had to persuade him not to take me off the case. He gave me a spell so I can call for backup if I need it, but I didn’t have the chance to use it yesterday...”

“You persuaded him to...” Draco passes a hand over his face. “Scorpius, for once in his life he was trying to do something sensible and you stopped him?”

“I had to!” Scorpius shifts forward in his seat, looking desperately across at his dad. “This is the most interesting case I’ll ever get. If I do well here someone might notice me, they might promote me. I need this, Dad. You know that.”

“You need to stay safe,” Draco says. “You can’t get promoted if you’re dead.”

Scorpius swallows and looks down at his knees. “I don’t think I care. If there’s something bad going on, something sinister, I can stop it. I can clear my name properly. If everything ends up well then I’ll get my life back, and if it doesn’t, then...” He gives a tiny shrug. “At least some people might feel guilty.”

There’s a second of stunned silence.

“You don’t mean that,” Draco says in a soft, hoarse voice.

Scorpius looks up at him, and when he looks at his dad’s face some of his defiance melts away. His dad looks like he’s been cursed, shock and pain written across every inch of his face.

“I don’t know,” Scorpius whispers. “I don’t know, Dad. Maybe I do.” He twists his hands together as he tries to work out how to explain it. “You can’t tell me that you don’t understand,” he says. “Of all people you know what it’s like to have the whole world hate you. If you could make all that stop, wouldn’t you?”

“It’s not worth getting yourself killed for,” Draco says, voice rising to a scalding volume that makes Scorpius reel back in his seat, cheeks burning with frustration.

He gets to his feet. “I’m going to bed. I have things to do tomorrow.”

“Scorpius,” his dad says sharply, giving him a hard look.

“What?” Scorpius asks, folding his arms. He knows he looks and sounds like a petulant child, but he doesn’t much care.

“I can’t lose you.” His dad’s voice breaks and Scorpius’s resolve crumbles, body sagging.

“I just want to be someone other than the Son of Voldemort,” he says, going across to his dad and curling up against his side on the sofa. “I want to be _someone_.”

His dad gathers him into a tight hug, brushing his fingers through his hair. “The best way to do that is by living,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of Scorpius’s head.

Scorpius buries his face in his dad’s shoulder and closes his eyes. “I don’t _want_ her to kill me,” he says in a broken little voice. “I want to live. I want to clear my name. I want a job I like and the boy I love, and I want people to stop hating me. That’s all I want. Isn’t the best way to get all that to solve this?”

“I can’t deny that,” Draco admits, rubbing a hand down Scorpius’s back. “What’s the next step?”

Scorpius sits up and shifts far enough from his dad that he can look at him properly. He crosses his legs and messes with a hole in the toe of one of his socks. “I found this note and translated it from Parseltongue.”

Draco raises his eyebrows, and Scorpius can tell he’s impressed. “From Parseltongue? Go on...”

“It mentions this place, at least I think it’s a place, Scythe? I’d like to go and have a look there, maybe ask some questions, try to find out how Delphi’s connected to it. I need to know more about what she’s planning with all these people, what she wants Albus for.”

Draco frowns. “Scythe... There’s a bar in Knockturn Alley called The Scythe.”

Scorpius nods enthusiastically. “That’s what I thought! I was going to ask you if there was anywhere else it could be instead.”

Draco shakes his head. “I can’t think of anything...” He looks at Scorpius. “Are you really going to go to Knockturn Alley alone? The Scythe isn’t a nice place to be. It looks welcoming enough, but things happen there. There’s magic in the air that’ll numb your mind. You won’t be as sharp. People know that, and they take advantage. If Delphi has been arranging meetings there then she must know it well, and she must know what it can do for her. I can’t stress enough that you need to be exceptionally careful.”

Scorpius nods. “I will be. I might not even go in. There’s stuff I can do from outside. I promise I’ll be sensible.”

“Don’t get caught sneaking around either,” Draco says. “People know you, Scorpius. You’re a familiar face. You’re my son too. I know you have enemies among the law abiding population, but you have more among the sort of people who frequent The Scythe. Don’t give anyone the chance to do anything to you.”

Scorpius sighs. “I know, Dad. I know how to take care of myself.”

“I know you do, but it always bears repeating.” Draco reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I want you back in one piece.”

Scorpius smiles and collapses against his dad’s side, hugging him round the middle. “Don’t worry about me. I’m a well-trained Ministry official now. I’m not your little boy anymore.”

Draco gathers him in, squeezing him tight. “I am painfully aware of that. Gone are the days when I could cast Cushioning Charms on every corner and hard surface in the house to catch you when you fell. You have to cast your own Cushioning Charms now.”

Scorpius’s smile widens and he looks up at his dad. “I’m actually really good at Cushioning Charms, you know. They’re one of my favourites.”

Draco kisses him on the forehead and strokes his hair. “Will you go tomorrow?”

Scorpius nods. “In the afternoon. I have to be back by six. I have a date with Albus.” He grins and gives a happy little wriggle in his seat.

Draco tuts. “Another one? You see more of him than anyone else these days.”

Scorpius pokes his dad in the side. “I thought you wanted me to get out more?”

“I’m very happy for you,” Draco says. “But he’s still a Potter, and you’re definitely obsessed.”

Scorpius gives a happy sigh and rests his head on his dad’s shoulder. “I might be a little bit. I’m in love with him.”

“I’d noticed,” Draco says drily, looking down at Scorpius, who grins up at him. “Have you thought about what you’ll do if Albus is a key part of Delphi’s plans? If he’s a willing participant, even?”

The smile fades from Scorpius’s face and he looks down at his hands and shrugs. “I don’t think he knows what she’s up to... I’m expecting- I don’t know what I’m expecting. Nothing good. But the thing I’m most worried about is trying to persuade him that she’s up to something. She’s still his best friend. She gave him everything he has. It must be hard to hear that your best friend is...” He shakes his head.

“I suppose you can worry about that later,” Draco says gently. “But if it helps, you’re trustworthy, and I have no doubt that Albus knows that. I’m sure he’ll listen to you.”

Scorpius bows his head. “I hope so.”

Draco ruffles his hair and gives his shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Where are you going for your date?” He asks, and Scorpius is grateful to his for changing the subject.

“I’m taking him to that restaurant we used to go to with mum,” Scorpius says. “You know the really nice one? Down near Godric’s Hollow?”

“I know the one,” Draco says. “I took your mother there for one of our first dates. I think that was the night I realised I wanted to marry her.”

Scorpius reaches across and takes his dad’s left hand, so he can inspect the ring on his fourth finger. “I don’t want to lose Albus again,” he murmurs. “I think I want him in my life forever now. He’s special.”

Draco snorts. “Special is certainly one word for it.”

Scorpius drops his hand and bats him on the arm. “ _Dad_! What do you have against Albus?”

Draco gives him a look. “Is that a serious question? Let’s think. He was a self-centred idiot for years, he abandoned you, he broke your-“

“Okay okay okay.” Scorpius waves a hand for his dad to stop. “I know all that. I know...” He looks at his dad for a moment, thinking. “What does he have to do to get you to change your mind? He’s earned my trust. How does he earn yours?”

“That’s a good question,” Draco says softly, thoughtfully. “I suppose I’d need to see proof that he’s different now. That he truly cares for you, and that he’s trying to make amends.” He points at Scorpius. “And you can’t tell him that. I want it from him. Just from him; because he’s realised there’s something that needs fixing.”

Scorpius nods. “I suppose that sounds fair... I won’t tell him. But I hope you get what you want from him, Dad. I really do. I want him to be welcome in this family one day.”

“I hope so too,” Draco says.

Albus knocks on the doorframe of the open backdoor and steps over the threshold. “Mum?” He calls.

The house is quiet, and he feels slightly strange just letting himself in, but he must have been told ten times in the last week that this is his home, so maybe he can just go in...

He puts the biscuit tin and bunch of flowers he’s holding down on the table and puts the kettle on to boil, then he perches on the edge of the table and swings his feet as he gazes out at the sunny garden. The air is warm and scented with freshly mown grass. A gentle breeze ruffles his hair. Everything is peaceful, and he relaxes his shoulders, truly feeling like he’s home.

“Oh, hello sweetheart.”

He jumps so hard he nearly falls off the table as his mum comes up and puts a hand on his back, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“I didn’t hear you,” he gasps. “You snuck up on me.”

She gives him a sparkling smile. “I didn’t hear you either. How long have you been here?”

“Just a few seconds,” he says. “I brought you these.” He hands her the flowers and picks up the biscuit tin. “The flowers are for you. I, um, I made the biscuits myself, so you might not want to eat them, but I think they’re quite good. I used dad’s recipe.”

His mum sighs and breathes in the scent of the flowers. “Well this is a wonderful surprise. I’m not sure James even knows what flowers are, and he’s certainly never baked us anything. You can definitely come and visit again.”

Albus smiles and hops down from the table. “I thought I should start making up for not being here, and biscuits and flowers is the best I can do. I put the kettle on as well.”

Ginny hugs him. “You have nothing to make up for.”

“I do,” Albus says. “Do you want milk? Sugar?”

He makes tea for both of them, insisting on it, and refusing to let his mum help with anything. In the end she seems to get his point and starts putting her flowers in water and investigating the biscuit tin. While he finishes the drinks she leans against the kitchen counter and makes appreciative noises as she munches on one of the bits of shortbread, licking her fingers when she’s done.

“Was it okay?” Albus asks bring her tea over.

“Absolutely delicious,” she says, taking the mug from him. “Thank you. I’ll have to lock them away so no one else can find them.”

Albus laughs and hops back onto the kitchen table, setting his own mug down next to him to let it cool.

“What did you want to talk about?” His mum asks, taking a sip of her own tea and looking at him. The sunlight dances through her hair, dust motes glittering around her, and she looks as warm and approachable as always. Kind, caring, and if there was anyone in the world Albus was going to talk to it would be her, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says carefully, trying to choose the right words. “About what happens next, you know, for me. After everything’s over.”

His mum takes another sip of tea and sets her mug down on the side next to her. “This is about the league,” she says. “Isn’t it?”

Albus nods. “Right. It’ll stop, and then... I don’t know what then. That’s the problem.” He leans his weight on his hands and looks at his mum. “How did you decide what to do when you stopped playing Quidditch?”

His mum sighs and leans back, folding her arms. “When I decided to stop playing it was my choice. I could have kept going, but I wanted to spend time with you and James and Lily. The writing was an extension of that. I was done playing but I didn’t have to let go of what I loved, and it was always nice to have something to do, somewhere to go. I imagine for you it will be quite different – you’re not choosing to leave, are you? If the league kept going, would you keep racing?”

Albus shrugs. “I’m not sure... Stopping seems so scary, I don’t know what else my life has in it; I don’t know what else I can do. I’ve always been so rubbish at everything, Mum. I don’t think I can do anything else that’s not this.”

“Now that’s not true and you know it,” she says, shooting a hard look at him. “You didn’t struggle in school because you weren’t talented. You struggled because you were unhappy and anxious. And even struggling like you did you still got your Es in potions and charms, and you passed plenty of the other subjects. You’re a lot of things, Albus, but rubbish is absolutely not one of them.”

Albus looks down at his knees. “Even if I’m not rubbish I’m still lost. I spent seven years thinking I’d found how I wanted my future to be and now I realise I was completely wrong. It was such a waste of time.”

“You needed those seven years,” his mum says gently, getting to her feet and coming over to sit beside him. “That was your time.”

“It was stupid to run away,” Albus mutters. “Another rubbish mistake.”

His mum puts an arm round him and gives him a tight squeeze. “Mistakes are important. Mistakes are how you learn. If life was perfect it would be boring and we wouldn’t grow.” She pulls away and looks at him. “Albus? I can see how much you’ve grown since you’ve been away. I can see how much you’ve changed. And now a lot is happening all at once. Give yourself time to get used to it. You don’t need all the answers straight away. You don’t need to know the exact shape of your life before you’ve lived it. I don’t think anyone ever does, and that’s part of the fun of it.”

“But I don’t know what I’m doing,” Albus mutters, messing with his fingers.

“Can I tell you a secret?” His mum asks, giving him a gentle nudge on the arm.

He looks at her. “Yes?”

She smiles. “Neither do I.”

“But you’re you,” he says. “You’re my mum. You’re Ginny Potter.”

She laughs and hugs him. “I know.” She kisses his temple and rubs his back as she holds onto him. “You’ll work it out,” she says. “You have time, plenty of time, to work out what you want to do next. Trust me. And it’s okay to be scared too. But if there’s anything I can do to help you, if there’s anything your dad can do, we’ll do it.”

He leans against her, feeling very small and miserable and confused. “What if I never figure it out?” He asks.

“Some people don’t,” she says, looking down at him. “The only thing that matters is that you’re happy.”

“Lost and happy,” he murmurs. “Sounds impossible.”

“Think about it,” she advises. “Don’t panic just yet. And one day you might just find that things have fallen into place.”

He looks up at her for a moment, then he nods. “Okay...”

She gives him another squeeze, then gets up and goes to get her cup of tea from across the kitchen. “Didn’t you take Scorpius to a race last night? How did it go?”

Albus starts telling her all about it, and as he does a contented happiness blossoms inside him. Even if the rest of his chaotic life makes him feel lost, Scorpius helps him feel found, and he tells his mum so. He tells her about the date, about winning the races, about the date tomorrow night too. He could talk about Scorpius forever, and she seems quite happy to listen.

When he’s finally exhausted everything he can think of to tell her about his boyfriend, she tells him about the family, filling him in on what Lily and James have been up to in the last week or so. It makes him miss his little sister more than ever, and it must show on his face because his mum pauses and scrutinises him.

“Why don’t you come for dinner,” she says. “While Lily is here. We can have a family dinner. I’ll get James to come too, and I’ll make Hermione kick your dad out of the office for a day. How about on Sunday?”

Albus thinks about the idea of being in the same room with all his family. It’s overwhelming, but he likes the thought of it. He likes the idea of being part of the family again. That alone sounds wonderful.

“Okay,” he says, then nods and smiles as the concept sinks in. “Yes. I’d like that. Thank you.”

She beams at him. “It’ll be wonderful to have everyone back together again, even if it is just for one evening.”

“Can Dad make his Yorkshires?” Albus asks, mouth watering just at the thought.

“I’ll ask him.” His mum comes over and rubs his arm, then she hugs him. “I’m so glad you want to come. I’m happy you’re back.”

Albus squeezes her tight and buries his face in her shoulder. “Me too,” he murmurs. “Me too.”

Scorpius sets off from the Manor at noon. His dad is already out so he doesn’t say goodbye. He sets off alone down the driveway, already dressed for his date with Albus. This way he won’t have to come home and change if investigating takes a little longer than planned, and he won’t be nearly so recognisable without his sky blue Ministry robes. He also takes a potion to temporarily change the colour of his hair, making it not quite bright red but close to it; he just hopes it will wear off before his date like it’s meant to. Besides the clothes and the hair, all he has with him are his wand and Delphi’s note, folded up in the inside pocket of his jacket.

At the end of the drive, he taps the gates with his wand so they lock behind him, then he inhales and turns on the spot. Next thing he knows he’s falling sideways and tumbling over the bins at the back of the Leaky Cauldron. Not his finest Apparition moment, he thinks as he picks himself up and dusts itself off, glancing around to make sure no one has seen. Thankfully there’s no one around, so he stands the bins upright and heads off into Diagon Alley.

It’s a Thursday afternoon so it’s not particularly busy, which is nice. The few people who are there don’t pay him much attention, and he wonders if perhaps it’s because for once his face isn’t emblazoned across all the newspaper stands in the street. Today he’s been temporarily replaced by Hermione giving a speech about vampire legislation.

He slips down the street, enjoying his anonymity. This is one of the first times ever that he’s been able to have a proper look around. The circumstances aren’t ideal, but he’ll take the opportunity as it comes.

Curious, he skirts close to the Apothecary, peering into the barrels of frog spawn, beetle eyes, and something that looks like threads of pure starlight, which can only be unicorn hair. Next he passes the Owl Emporium, pausing briefly to talk to a tiny Burrowing Owl, that glares at him and clicks her beak irritably when he stops to say hello. The Tawny Owl next door is far more friendly, and obligingly turns her head so he can stroke the soft feathers on her back.

A little way further up the street is Quality Quidditch Supplies. There’s a new racing broom in the window that Scorpius has been meaning to look at for a while, but he’s never dared to stop long enough. Today, though, he stands and stares in through the window at it, admiring the clean, sharp lines and perfect aerodynamics. The holly wood handle gleams, and the arrow-straight sweep of the tail is breath-taking. Scorpius can only imagine how good Albus would look on that thing; how fast he’d be. He wonders if Albus has seen it. For all these years has Albus been coming here to gawk at brooms? He must surely take a professional interest, musn’t he?

Scorpius rests his hands on the window ledge and gazes at the broom, lost in his own little world. In his mind he can see Albus on this broom outstripping everyone as he dives. He can see Albus dancing round a corner, brushing past flames with ease. He can see Albus lying flat against the handle, urging the broom on to ever faster speeds. And he can see Albus just sitting astride the broom, hair ruffled, a big grin on his face, all clad in dragon hide, which hugs every inch of his body and does wonders for his magnificent-

Scorpius shakes himself and pushes off the window ledge, cheeks heating up. He glances around to see if anyone has noticed him standing there, whether anyone might somehow know what he was just thinking about, but no one is paying any attention to him. He’s definitely safe.

He makes himself walk away from the beautiful broom, but he glances back at it as he does, making a mental note to mention it to Albus over dinner later.

After that he stays on task as he walks the length of the rest of the street. He’s already spent too long being distracted. At this rate, he won’t even make it to The Scythe before he has to leave for his date.

It doesn’t take him long after that to reach the entrance to Knockturn Alley. He checks that he’s still not being watched, then he turns into the shadows of the alley and sets off towards The Scythe.

There was plenty to be curious about walking down Diagon Alley, and there’s no less to be curious about down here, with its abundance of potion suppliers, antiques shops, and apothecaries, but this isn’t the sort of place to linger and browse. He keeps his head down and walks with purpose past the shops, not wanting to attract any attention. His dad has always taught him that in Knockturn Alley, whether you’re on business or not, you make it look like you have an urgent appointment. Avoid eye contact, walk like you own the place, stop for no one and nothing.

Scorpius knows he doesn’t have his dad’s presence or confidence here. He doesn’t really have it anywhere. But he does his best, even though goosebumps are rising on his arms now he’s in the shade, and he feels like someone is watching him.

_Don’t look back_ , he tells himself, rubbing his arms. _It’s just your imagination_.

He winds his way down the street. His ankles turn as he picks his way across the cobbles, and he has to pause a couple of times to make sure he hasn’t sprained anything.

Even though it’s midday and sunny, the buildings are so high and so warped that they lean in over the street, blocking out the sunlight. If they were any more twisted or crumbling the facades would probably meet, and the buildings would become one. Knockturn Alley would become a tunnel, full of even more shadows than it already is. It’s not a great thought, and Scorpius shivers and glances up, searching for any glimpse of the sky. There’s only the tiniest slither of it up there, just visible between the rooftops.

The Scythe is a bit further into the alley, on a wider section of road that’s not quite so shadowy. The buildings here are a bit neater and tidier, better kept. The window displays are less dusty, and the owners clearly take pride in making a good impression. Scorpius knows only too well that there are plenty of people that frequent places like this who have money to spare, and this part of the alley is clearly aimed at them.

Despite its surroundings, The Scythe itself still has a peeling sign outside, and a dingy, grim-looking entrance that’s bathed in shadow. When Scorpius steps inside he finds himself in a cool entrance area. A man is standing behind a podium, staring down at whatever paperwork he’s doing and pointedly ignoring Scorpius.

This is the point where Draco would assert his dominance and right to exist in this space, and Scorpius attempts to do the same. He folds his arms and draws himself up to his full, impressive height. He knows he looks good in his date clothes too. Perhaps he’s not as attention-grabbing as Albus would be, but he looks well put together, the sort of young patron with money to splash around that this sort of place survives on. He clears his throat and fixes the man with a steady, patient look that clearly says he’s waiting.

The effect is immediate. The man looks up at him, and leans on the podium.

“How can I help you?” He asks.

“I’m here for a meeting with a friend,” Scorpius lies. “Delphini Black. I believe she’s got a room here, and she asked to meet me.”

The man scrutinises him for a moment. “We don’t have a Delphini Black staying here,” he says.

Scorpius tries to hide his surprise and disappointment. Perhaps it really was just a meeting Delphi was arranging. Perhaps she has no other connections here. Perhaps there’s nothing to find.

“That was the name she gave me,” he says. All isn’t lost yet, he’s not giving up that easily. “I know she sometimes goes by pseudonyms. Maybe she’s given you a different name.”

There’s another pause and a long hard look that Scorpius meets, cool and calm, giving nothing away. Finally the man looks down and shuffles some papers on his podium.

“We’ve got a Delphini Lestrange,” he says. “She’s just gone out, but she’ll be back soon. You can wait for her in the bar.”

Lestrange. Delphini Lestrange. Scorpius knows he looks like he’s just been hit by the Hogwarts Express, but he tries to rearrange his face back into a more neutral expression as he nods. “Yes,” he says. “Lestrange. That sounds about right.”

_Lestrange_. What does that mean? Who is this woman? How has Albus become best friends with a _Lestrange_?

“The bar’s through there,” the man says, pointing to a blacked out door to one side of the podium.

“She told me to wait by her room,” Scorpius tries, throwing caution to the winds.

The man smiles and points to the door again. “Don’t push your luck. She’ll be back in a bit. When she arrives I’ll tell her you’re here.”

_Shit_.

Scorpius considers lying and telling the man he wants to surprise her, but he knows he’s already given away too much. He doesn’t want to get thrown out. Instead he takes the more sensible option and gives the man a smile and nod.

“That’d be great, thanks. Tell her Rookwood’s waiting. Hyperion Rookwood.” Then he rushes away through the door before he can be questioned anymore.

The bar itself is deserted. The room is dark, bathed in a deep purple enchanted light, and it takes Scorpius’s eyes a moment to adjust. A sort of thick, sweet smelling smoke hangs in the air, and Scorpius wonders if this is the enchantment his dad was talking about. If it is, it’s impossible not to breathe it in, but at least he knows it’s going to dull his senses. He’s prepared and he knows he needs to be careful.

He approaches the bar because he’s not sure what else to do. Somehow he’ll have to blag his way upstairs. Maybe he can pretend to have asthma and ask if he can wait somewhere else away from the smoke, or-

“Afternoon,” the barman says, leaning forward across the bar so he becomes visible past the smoke. “I wasn’t expecting to see someone like you in here today.”

Scorpius goes over to him, hesitant, wondering if something’s given him away. “Someone like me?” he asks uncertainly.

The man smiles and nods. “Exactly. You know,” he gestures to Scorpius, gaze sweeping the length of his body. “Someone young, gorgeous, clearly not an alcoholic.” He takes another look at Scorpius. “You’re not an alcoholic, are you?”

Scorpius shakes his head and smiles back, uncertain and a little disarmed by how nice this man is being. “Not that I know of. I, um... I’m here for a meeting.”

The man nods. “Business?”

“Meeting a friend,” Scorpius says. He sits down at the bar and gestures to the drinks, trying to look like he knows what he’s doing. “What do you recommend?”

The barman picks up a bottle and shoots him a smile that’s undoubtedly flirtatious. “A Love Potion.”

Scorpius blinks at him, taken aback. “Not an actual love potion? Because I don’t really want to fall in love with my friend when she gets here...”

The man laughs. “Why, not your type?”

“Not... exactly,” Scorpius says. “I mean, she’s lovely, but I prefer...” He thinks of Albus clad in dragon hide, and leans his chin on his hand, smiling. “I prefer something a little different.”

“This isn’t an actual love potion,” the barman says. “You might fall in love with my cocktails though. I hope you’re prepared for that.”

“Go on,” Scorpius says, the heady scent of the room permeating his brain as he watches the barman opening bottles and pouring drinks. “Seduce me.” The second he says it he realises how stupid it sounded, and he buries his face in his hands with a groan. Thankfully the barman just laughs.

“For that,” the barman says, “beautiful, ridiculous man whose name I don’t know, it’s on the house.”

“Hyperion,” Scorpius says instantly. “Hyperion Rookwood. That’s my name.”

“Hyperion,” the man repeats. “Nice name. I’m Leo.” He finishes shaking up the cocktail and pours it out, then places it on top of the bar, adding a sprinkle of something that shimmers in the light as a final touch. “Who‘s your friend, Hyperion? I’m curious to know who has the honour of spending time with you.”

“Delphini Lestrange,” Scorpius says, deciding that as much as he knows he should tell this man to stop openly flirting with him – that he’s very not single thank you very much, and that he’s only going along with it because the weird smoke is dulling his senses – this might actually be useful. He still needs to get to Delphi’s room, and maybe this is how he does it.

“Have you met her?” He asks. “She stays here.”

Leo nods. “I have met her. She doesn’t like a Love Potion, she drinks Augurey Tears.”

Scorpius frowns, wrong-footed again. “Not... actual Augurey Tears? That’s a cocktail too?”

“Not just a pretty face then,” Leo says, shooting Scorpius a smile, and Scorpius doesn’t know if he’s being made fun of now or not.

“I’m not,” Scorpius confirms. “Why, did you think I was?”

Leo shrugs. “You’re here on a Thursday afternoon, dressed very nicely for a meeting with a girl who’s not your type. That to me says you’re someone who likes to be looked at.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “I definitely don’t like to be looked at.”

“Why’s that then?”

“Most people look at me the wrong way,” Scorpius says. “No, I just have a date. Later. After my business meeting.”

Leo sighs. “You’re a taken man. That’s a shame to hear, Hyperion Rookwood.”

“Do I have to give the Love Potion back now?” Scorpius asks.

Leo laughs. “No. It’s yours.” He leans in close and lowers his voice. “I recommend drinking it, Hyperion. It makes you immune to the smoke. You’ll need it if you’re going to talk to her. Someone who’s more than a pretty face would know that.”

Scorpius frowns at him. His face is still partially obscured by the smoke and harsh lighting, even though they’re not far apart. “How do I know you’re not trying to poison me, or make it worse?”

Leo’s smile widens, and he shrugs and picks up a cloth and starts cleaning glasses. “Definitely not just a pretty face. You decide for yourself, Hyperion.”

Scorpius looks down at the drink on the bar in front of him. There’s a pink powder glittering on top, and the drink underneath is a soft peach colour. It looks delicious, but he doesn’t trust it. He doesn’t trust anything here, not this man, not Delphi. This is dangerous, and he should probably leave, but now he knows Delphi comes here often he can’t just walk away. He’ll never be able to come back if he does. He’s in too deep with his lie now.

“What’s this on top?” He asks, brushing his finger through the dust.

Leo glances at it. “Pearl Dust,” he says. “The key ingredient in any Love Potion.”

“Isn’t Pearl Dust rare?” Scorpius asks, licking his finger. He gets a soft, fruity flavour, and the slight tingle of the dust.

“Rare and expensive,” Leo says. “But delicious. And important. It allows your mind to be shaped however you wish.”

I want my mind to be clear, Scorpius thinks, and immediately it feels as though a haze has lifted from him. He blinks twice and looks at Leo. “You weren’t lying.”

Leo nods. “You’re welcome. Be careful with that Lestrange, she’s vicious.”

“She stays here, you said,” Scorpius says, taking a sip of the Love Potion.

Leo nods. “Upstairs. Room Three. She’s been here for... forever really. I mean she comes and goes, she disappeared for a whole year recently, but she always returns and it’s always Room Three. No one else goes in there.”

Room Three. Scorpius’s insides leap with triumphant excitement, but he keeps sipping his cocktail and tries to look casual. “When you say she’s been here forever...?”

“Longer than I’ve been here,” Leo says. “And I’ve been here for years. She’s a permanent fixture. Like a particularly savage family cat.”

Scorpius smiles and nods. “I can imagine. Does she at least keep the mice away?”

“She likes to play with her food,” Leo says, putting a glass away on a shelf behind the bar. “If she got hold of you you’d probably wish you were dead.”

“You’re almost making me regret meeting her,” Scorpius says, finishing his cocktail and sliding the glass back to Leo. “Thank you for this. It was delicious.”

“Just make sure you’re on her side and you’ll be fine,” Leo says, taking the glass.

Scorpius nods. “Is there a loo around here?”

Leo points to a door across the bar. Now Scorpius has finished the drink, the fog seems considerably less dense, and he can see further through the room. Before he wouldn’t have been able to see the door, but he can now.

“Down the stairs, turn to the left.”

Scorpius gets to his feet. “Thanks. I’ll be back in a minute.” He hurries across the bar, lets himself through the door, and finds himself facing a set of stairs going down, and another set of stairs going up. He goes up, in search of Room Three.

The first landing he comes to has just one unmarked door on it, right at the top of the stairs. He leaves it, not wanting to waste time, and heads down the corridor to where a spiral staircase curves away upwards.

He tiptoes up the creaky stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible, and when he gets to the top he peers up and down the landing before he steps out onto it. There’s no one around. It’s the middle of the day, so anyone staying here must be out by now. Everything is still and quiet. Even the cleaners must have finished their work.

Scorpius follows the corridor, looking at the doors. He finds rooms One and Two easily, but it takes him a moment to realise that Room Three is tucked away out of sight and around a corner, well away from the stairs. When Scorpius tries the handle he’s not surprised to find that the door is locked.

After glancing around again to confirm that there’s definitely no one in the corridor with him, he slips his wand from the pocket of his trousers and points it at the door lock.

He’s about to do a simple unlocking charm, but something stops him. He doesn’t know Delphi that well, but there’s every chance that she’s paranoid enough to have put security charms on her door. Any simple spell will give him away in a heartbeat. Something more complicated will probably work a lot better for his purposes here.

He pauses for a moment, considering his options, before deciding to go for a fiddly little spell that reads the shape of the lock and creates a phantom key to fit it. It’s the spell that fools all the most basic and some of the more complex security charms. He’s heard Harry enthusing about it to the Aurors too many times to ignore it.

He crouches down and lays the tip of his wand just on the edge of the lock, and starts muttering the incantation. It takes a good minute or so to complete, but when he does, a white, smoke-like substance floats from the end of his wand and into the lock. After a moment it coalesces into a solid shape, and when Scorpius slides it fully into the keyhole and turns it, there’s a soft click and the door swings inwards. Perfect.

Scorpius nudges the door open with his shoulder and stands on the threshold, looking into the room. It’s very bare, so bare that it almost looks uninhabited. The only thing indicating that anyone lives here is the open window, a bag strap poking out from under the bed, and a pair of shoes tucked neatly into the corner. Aside from that there’s nothing. Even the desk looks unused, with not so much as a single quill on top.

Scorpius sweeps his wand across the whole room. “Specialis Revelio.”

A beat of silence. Nothing happens.

Scorpius tries another couple of spells to check for traps or any other dark magic but there’s nothing here that he knows how to detect. Either the room is perfectly safe or there’s some darker, better hidden enchantment here. But if he wants to go exploring then he doesn’t have much choice but to assume that his detection spells are up to scratch. He cautiously steps into the room and turns around on the spot, trying to decide what to have a look at first.

In the end he goes for the bag under the bed. He carefully eases it out and starts going through it, making sure to replace everything exactly where he found it. There’s nothing much in there of interest. It must be her kit bag, because it’s got a dragon hide jacket in there, a water bottle, and a couple of tiny bottles of potions and salves that must be for healing.

He nudges the bag back under the bed and goes through the bedside drawers next. These too contain nothing of much interest. There are a couple of ordinary books that don’t reveal any hidden messages when Scorpius casts spells on them. Aside from that there’s very little in there at all, and he quickly gives up on those and goes to the desk.

When he touches the handle of the top drawer, he instantly recoils as an electric shock crackles through his hand and up his arm. He wriggles his fingers and looks at the handle. Sparks of magic flicker up and down it, and he points his wand at it and casts Finite Incantatem. Instantly the sparks crackle brighter, flaring up and arching out towards him. He dives back and tries a couple of other more powerful spells, eventually succeeding in killing the enchantment so the sparks fade and die.

He gives it a second before he inches across to the desk again, and this time when he tries to open the drawer nothing stops him. It slides open easily, with just a little rattle, and inside he finds a single notebook and a quill.

He takes the notebook out and quickly checks the second drawer, but there’s nothing inside. A quick check of the rest of the table doesn’t reveal any hidden drawers or cupboards, and there’s nothing much on the table top besides a couple of pieces of blank parchment. The notebook is the best he has to go on.

He flips it open to a random inside page. It’s blank, so he flicks through the pages, running his thumb over the corners of each page so they rifle past. The whole book seems to be blank. But if it was really blank why would Delphi have protected it with a complicated bit of magic? Why would she bother?

He leans in close and presses his nose to the page, trying to see any trace of writing. There’s nothing to indicate that anything has ever been written here. No sign of anything erased of vanished. But there has to be something.

“Specialis Revelio,” he mutters, giving it a sharp tap with his wand. Nothing happens.

He picks the book up and inspects the front and back covers. There’s nothing written on either, no instruction for revealing the text or anything. But there must be a key. Perhaps he has to use Parseltongue to ask it to open or something, not that he knows any Parseltongue. Or perhaps this is like Riddle’s diary, and he has to write in the book.

He picks up a quill and lets it drop on the first page, but after several seconds it becomes clear that the ink isn’t going to sink into the paper. It blots the surface, leaving a big black mark. Still the book does nothing.

Sighing, he steps back and stares at the book. If he does have to use Parseltongue then this is going to be hopeless. He doesn’t know any, and even if he did it’s supposed to be impossible to learn. If only he’d kept the dictionary, then he might have had a chance.

He pulls the folded up note from his pocket and looks at it, trying to work out if there’s any way of using it, any hints at the translations of the words. He’s made a few scrawlings in the margins while he’s been working on his translation, and for one of the words he’s jotted down a rough pronunciation guide.

He tests out the sounds, and he knows he sounds absolutely ridiculous. If Albus were here and the situation less dangerous, they’d probably both have a good laugh about it. But right now he’s alone and Delphi should be back any minute, so he has to get on with it.

The sounds – they’re not really words to him – feel strange in his mouth, and he has to practice them a couple of times before he can even begin to work out what he’s doing. There’s a lot of hissing and spitting, and it sounds more like he’s mimicking an angry cat than trying to talk snake language. Finally he runs his fingers through his hair and decides that, unless the diary is designed to self-destruct when someone speaks terrible Parseltongue at it, he loses nothing by having a go.

He braces his hands on the desk and leans in close, looking down at the cover of the diary. There’s a little crest embossed in gold in one corner, and at the centre of the crest is a snake. He looks at the snake and tries to imagine that he’s talking to it.

His first attempt comes out all wrong. He gives a sharp hiss makes it sound like he’s being strangled, and spit flies everywhere, all over his face and the desk.

“Whoops,” he mutters wiping away the little flecks with his fingers.

He sighs and stares down at the book again. For some reason he gets the distinct feeling that Albus would probably be a lot better at this than he is, but sadly Albus isn’t here and he has no real option besides having another go.

His second attempt is a little bit better. It doesn’t get the diary to respond, but at least he doesn’t spit all over himself, and he thinks he might be starting to get his mouth round the words.

Attempt three is his best yet, and the diary starts to glow with a faint purple light. He flips open the cover and sees that the faintest outlines of words are starting to appear, shining luminescent in the strange glow. They’re not quite readable yet but they’re getting there, so he tries the Parseltongue again and this time, finally, the book is fully convinced. Purple light bursts out of it, and the room seems to dim around him, throwing the letters and words within into sharp relief.

He claps a hand over his mouth to stop himself cheering out loud and pulls the book closer to him. Thankfully the writing in here isn’t Parseltongue. It’s English, written in a messy scrawl that’s just about legible enough for Scorpius to read it.

The diary, and it is definitely a diary now that the text has been fully revealed, takes up almost the whole book. There are a few pages still blank at the end, but other than that everything is full of Delphi’s scribblings.

The book seems to date all the way back to 2018, and when Scorpius starts reading he realises with a jolt that Albus is mentioned on the first page.

_Watched youngest Potter boy on Platform 9 3/4. Later discovered he was sorted into Slytherin. Something to keep an eye on?_

When he flips further through he finds that many of the entries mention Albus. In fact the diary charts almost every one of the events Albus has told Scorpius about over the past week and a half. It’s like seeing the past seven years of Albus’s life charted in front of him. Even stranger is seeing it from Delphi’s point of view, with notes of Albus’s behaviour and attitude, tiny hints of triumph when she’s getting what she wants from him, and frustration when she’s not.

And then he starts to find the other little bits and pieces, things from Delphi’s own life, things that he can’t imagine Albus even knows. He finds notes from the last year spent in Europe. She had meetings with werewolves, giants, trolls, and those are just the ones mentioned that he spots as he skims. Her writing grows increasingly excited as her plan comes together, but he still can’t find what the plan is. Perhaps she wasn’t stupid enough to put it down in writing.

He flicks feverishly through the pages, wanting to find whatever it is he’s looking for and copy it before he needs to leave, because time must be running short by now.

“Come on come on,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair and searching faster and faster. When he gets really frustrated he taps his wand on the page and searches the book for ‘plan’ but he’s not surprised when nothing comes back.

In the end he stumbles across the truth by chance. He turns a page too fast and hard and tears the corner. As he swears and casts Reparo to fix it, he spots Delphi’s words, a frustrated little musing to herself.

_I hate him. If I could kill him I would, but I need him. It will be far more fun with him involved. Use the boy to lure Potter in, son kills father, and in the chaos that follows I take the place that should have been my father’s almost 30 years ago. Fate, just as the Augurey prophesied. I am Voldemort’s daughter and this world is my birthright._

Scorpius reels back in pure horror. He blinks several times to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him, but every time he does he sees the words as if they’re burned into the insides of his eyelids.

_I am Voldemort’s daughter._

Even though his hands are shaking, even though he wants to run a hundred miles from this place and drag Albus to safety with him, there’s one last thing he has to do before he leaves. He draws his wand to make a copy of the page, but just as he does he hears a floorboard creak behind him and he freezes.

“Did you find something interesting to read?” Delphi asks.

Scorpius’s grip tightens around his wand and he puts a hand on the edge of the desk to stop his knees buckling. Caught in the act. And this time there’s no Albus to come and save him.

He turns slowly to face her. “Delphi,” he says brightly. “I just thought I’d-“

“Petrificus Totalus.”

His body goes stiff and he falls straight backwards, slamming the middle of his back against the edge of the table. He gives a groan of pain and closes his eyes. His wand is still in his hand but he can’t move to wave it, so it’s worse than useless. He can’t even use it to call for help. He’s trapped here, stuck, and whatever she does next isn’t going to be pleasant.

“It’s not nice to read other people’s diaries, Scorpius,” she says, in a sweet voice, waltzing over and treading on his foot as she leans across to shut the diary. “Didn’t your parents teach you that? Although I suppose that’s the sort of thing mothers teach you, and yours wasn’t around for very long, was she?”

Scorpius boils with rage. He may be trapped but he’s not going down without a fight. “Don’t you dare talk about my-“

“Silencio,” she says, with a casual flick of her wand.

Scorpius’s words die in his throat and even when he moves his mouth nothing comes out. Trapped and silent. No one can hear him scream.

He looks at her, just about able to move his eyes to see where she is, but she doesn’t make it hard for him. She leans in close, right in his face, and grins at him.

“It’s been such a touching reunion between you and Albus, and now you’re going to tell me why.”

He wants to ask what she means, but he can’t speak. Instead he just stares at her and hopes that she’ll at least have the mercy to end whatever’s about to come quickly.

“I’ve been with him for seven years,” she says. “Every single day. But he’s still obsessed with you. I don’t understand, but you’re going to help me. Now, let’s have some fun.”

She touches her wand to his temple and he screws his eyes tight shut, waiting for a flash of green light and a rush of wind. But it never comes, instead she breathes into his ear, soft and intimate, “Crucio.”

The pain that follows is only made more excruciating by the sudden shock of it. There’s nothing Scorpius can do to temper it. He can’t scream, he can’t clench his fists or contort his body. He just leans there as he’s wracked with it, too much to bear, shooting from his brain down his spine and through every single limb. He’s locked in place, screaming inside, and he doesn’t know how much more agony like this he can take.

When it ends he can’t even show his relief. All he can do is open his eyes and try to draw in breaths.

Delphi pulls her wand back and walks away a few steps, turning on her heel in the centre of the room, a big grin on her face like she’s enjoying everything about this.

“It’s almost no fun with all those spells on you,” she says. “I can’t even see or hear the pain. What’s the point of that?” She points her wand at him, and he realises that she’s about to release him. His wand is still in his hand. Maybe he can cast the spell to call for help, or-

“Expelliarmus,” she says, and his last hope of salvation flies from his hand and spins away into a corner. Before he can mourn its loss the Full Body Bind Curse releases and he collapses in a heap on the floor, curling into a ball and rubbing his aching limbs. As he falls, the diary on the table is knocked down too, landing on the floorboards right beside him.

“Fulgari,” Delphi says, hitting him with another spell before he can think to do anything else. His wrists snap together, a searing band of fire burning around them. Next thing he knows she flicks her wand again and he hears himself gasp and cough. His voice is back.

“I know,” he says. “I know everything. You have to kill me. You don’t have another choice. Torture me as much as you like but I’m going to tell Albus and Harry everything the second they rescue me.”

Delphi gives a high, cruel laugh. “Rescue you? No one is coming to rescue you, Scorpius. You’re alone here, with just me. And in a second you’re going to remember nothing.” She directs her wand right at his head again.

“You’re going to torture me into insanity?” Scorpius asks. “Is that your grand plan? You know Albus might notice that and be a little bit-“

“Obliviate.”

A soft, warm numbness spreads through Scorpius’s mind. For a moment he doesn’t know anything at all, but then his thoughts coalesce and he discovers that he’s kneeling on the floor with Delphi, Albus’s friend, pointing a wand at him. There’s a book on the floor next to him and he knows it’s important, that he needs to take it to Albus, but he doesn’t remember why.

“What am I doing here?” He asks. “Why are you pointing your wand at me? I’m Albus’s boyfriend. You’re his friend. We’re on the same side.”

Delphi comes over and crouches down opposite him. “That’s better. Although you should know, little Malfoy, that we’re not on the same side. Not unless you tell me exactly what I need to know.”

Scorpius frowns at her, confused. He looks down and realises that his wrists are stinging because they’re bound. The spell around them is making beads of blood stand out on his skin as it scorches him. “What do you need to know? Can you take this off me too? It hurts.”

Delphi puts her wand under his chin, lifting it so he’s looking at him, he stares up at her. “Why is Albus obsessed with you?” She asks. “What have you done to him? Is it a spell? An enchantment? A love potion? You’ve warped his mind. How?”

Scorpius swallows and pulls back, getting the wand away from him. “What? I haven’t done anything. Albus just... he loves me. I’m his boyfriend. He’s in love with me.”

Delphi pulls her wand back and twirls it between her fingers, scrutinising him. “Love,” she says softly. “I know that. I’ve had to listen to him talk about it enough. But how did you get him to love you? What did you do?”

Scorpius shakes his head. “I-I don’t think I understand the question. I didn’t _do_ anything. I just... I was. I am. He... He loves _me_. Because I’m me, or... I don’t even know why, but he does.”

“That’s rubbish,” Delphi says, getting to her feet. “You’re lying to me. You’re not telling me everything.”

“I’m not,” Scorpius says, struggling onto his knees. “I promise, I-“

“Crucio.”

He screams. Waves of pain wash through his body like a tsunami, leaving only wreckage and devastation behind. His limbs cramp and he can’t stop himself from contorting. His throat is raw with the intensity of his screams. He hits his head on the floor as he falls sideways, and when the pain stops he lies there in a daze, gasping for breath, terror coursing through him because he doesn’t understand. What is Delphi doing? Why is this happening? He doesn’t know how to stop this.

“Now,” Delphi says, sitting cross-legged on the floor opposite him and laying her wand there. “Tell me how you made Albus fall in love with you, or I’ll make the pain even worse.”

Scorpius manages to get his elbow on the floor and push himself half upright without hurting his wrists too much. The spell binding them still burns and aches but he doesn’t let it brush his skin any more than it was already.

Once he’s propped on one elbow he looks at Delphi. “I didn’t make Albus do anything. He loves me because he wants to. I can’t tell you why because that’s not how it works. Why does anyone love anyone? Because... because they find something in the other person that brings them joy and life and... and makes them want to get to know that person as intimately as they can.”

Delphi nods and slides forward towards him, an eager look on her face. “I want to know Albus. I want to know his secrets, how he can be used. I understand that. Keep going.”

Scorpius recoils from her, falling onto his backside but managing to stay upright. “But that’s not love. You don’t _use_ someone you love. You’re his best friend, why don’t understand that? If you love someone you want to know them just because... _because_. Because they’re fascinating. Because they’re beautiful. Because they’re another human that you respect, and- I can’t tell you how to make Albus love you. I don’t know how I made him love me. I _didn’t_ make him love me. He just did it because he wanted to.”

“You must have done something,” Delphi says. “Love is magic. I know that. Lily Potter’s Charm, and- How do you _do_ that magic? What’s the spell?”

Scorpius shakes his head. “There isn’t a spell. That’s not how it works. It happens.”

Delphi scrutinises him for a long moment, then she gets to her feet and flicks her wand dismissively in his direction. “Useless. Crucio.”

Sharp agony, inside him, around him, overwhelming him, utterly unbearable. He falls backwards, and when his body jars on the floor the pain pales into insignificance beside the pain of the torture. His toes curl, he claws at his torso trying to tear the pain out of him somehow. There’s no relief. It goes on and on, never ending, until it stops and he lies there, trying to feel nothing.

“Last chance,” Delphi says, cold and sharp, undeterred by his failed attempts to answer so far. “Tell me the secret.”

“I’ve...” Scorpius grunts and twists round to look at her, “told you. There isn’t a secret. I haven’t done anything to him. I offered him sweets on the train when we first met, I stuck by him when he was miserable, I helped him feel connected to his life again last week, that’s it.” He sits with his bound, aching hands between his knees and looks Delphi in the eye. “Delphi, you’re his best friend. He already loves you. I don’t know why you can’t see it but there’s nothing you need to do. There is no secret. You’ve already won. You don’t need to do this, I promise.”

“No,” she says, levelling her wand at him and shaking her head. “No that’s not true. He’s more loyal to you than to me. You’ve been here a week and a half and he’s fallen in love with you. You’re stealing him from me, and you can’t deny it.”

Scorpius sighs. “Just a thought but have you tried being nice to him?” He lifts his hands. “If this is what you do to make people tell you things then maybe he’s not inclined to be helpful. He’s not as tolerant as I am.”

A smile curls across Delphi’s lips. “I didn’t know you could be a smartass. Maybe this is what Albus sees in you. You have spirit.”

“I’m very flattered,” Scorpius says. “Will you let me go now?” He holds his hands out to her. His brain is foggy, his whole body aches, especially his back, and his wrists are really bleeding now.

“No,” Delphi says bluntly. “You haven’t helped, even a little bit. I think you’re being difficult. I think you need more persuasion.”

“But I-“

Delphi’s wand slashes through the air. “Sectumsempra,” she barks.

Instantly Scorpius’s neat new shirt, the one he’d put on specially for his date, blossoms scarlet. It takes him a second to realise that he’s in terrible pain, and another second more to comprehend that he’s bleeding from a long gash across his torso. He curls in on himself, pressing his hands to it and staring up at Delphi.

“You’re going to make me... bleed to death?” He asks, already feeling faint. There really is a lot of blood. His hands are already soaked with it.

She slashes her wand through the air again and another bit of his shirt goes bright red, the two spots merging into one. Scorpius slumps sideways against the table leg, head spinning.

“I can’t tell you anything, if you-“

“You’d better talk quickly then,” she says. “Hadn’t you.”

“I don’t... have anything to tell you,” Scorpius says, trying to put pressure on both wounds at once, even as he slides further onto the ground. “I’ve already... said that. And even if I did I... I think I’d rather die.”

Another slash, and Scorpius’s body convulses with the pain of it. He collapses sideways, the world going dark around the edges. So this is it. A death of confusion and excruciating pain, at the hands of someone who’s supposed to be his boyfriend’s best friend.

As his eyes flutter closed he spots the book lying on the floor, now splattered and stained with his blood. No one will know it’s here. If he dies no one will know what’s inside it. If by some miracle he survives this, someone needs to find out about the book. But he’s not going to survive this, so...

Everything goes black. He floats in nothingness. The pain slowly subsides. And then he realises there are hands on him, supporting his back, sitting him up slightly.

“Albus?” He whispers.

“Unfortunately for you, not Albus.”

He opens his eyes to see Delphi again. She has an arm round his back, and there’s something hard pressing into the back of his neck. It takes him a moment to realise that it’s her wand.

“I’m not dead,” he says softly. “I thought I was bleeding.”

“Not anymore,” Delphi says. She strokes her fingers through his hair, making him shudder. “Poor Scorpius. Useless Scorpius. Unable, or perhaps unwilling, to tell me anything. But Albus will never know how loyal you’re being. You’re all alone again, Scorpius. Always alone. Well, I suppose you’re technically not alone now. You’ve got me.” She gives a high-pitched, cold laugh that sends chills down Scorpius’s spine. He tries to wriggle away but she grips the back of his shirt and holds him steady.

“You’re going to help me,” she murmurs. “You’re going to break eventually. It’s only a matter of time, I know it is. There are some things that no one can resist. Crucio.”

This time the agony shoots straight down Scorpius’s spine and he loses himself. His limbs are trembling. He doesn’t know if he’s shouting or screaming or if he’s in too much pain to make a sound. He can’t see or hear and think. He almost can’t even feel because the pain is burning white hot through every inch of him, overriding every other part of his existence. There’s nothing beyond the pain, and it stretches on from seconds into minutes into hours and days, weeks, months. The pain goes on forever. There’s sharp bile in his throat and warm wet against his legs, but those are distant human sensations, and Scorpius isn’t human anymore, because you can’t go through this and remain human.

When Delphi finally removes her wand, Scorpius realises that he’s managed to roll onto his front and there are hot tears stinging his face. He must have thrown up from the agony of it because there’s sick among the blood on the floor, and he realises that his trousers are damp too. He lies there, still in too much pain to move, limbs still shaking, humiliated and exhausted.

“Why haven’t you killed me?” He whispers, voice hoarse and raw. “I don’t understand. I can’t give you what you want. Just let me go.”

Delphi pats him on the back and he twitches and groans. “No. You’re too useful to be killed. I’ll just have to keep going with this instead. Don’t tell me you’re not having fun.”

Scorpius fixes his eyes on the book that he’s now managed to kick under the desk by accident, which Delphi seems to have forgotten about. He needs her to not remember it. “So much fun,” he murmurs. “This is wonderful.”

“Good,” Delphi says. “Then we can-“

There’s a whooshing in the distance, and suddenly Delphi’s hands are gone and he hears footsteps creaking across the floorboards and a wash of green light fill the room.

“What do you want?” Delphi asks. “I’m busy, I’ve got a guest.”

“Augurey,” a man says. “I’m sorry to bother you, but the meeting at the Sign of the Black Dog... You asked us to wait for you there. We wanted to know if you were still coming, because if not, then we can-“

“Shit. Is Von Strasser there?”

“Yes, everyone is.”

“Fine. I’m coming. Give me five minutes and I’ll be there. Send my apologies.”

“Yes, Augurey.”

Another whoosh and the green light fades. More footsteps, and then Scorpius is yanked off the floor by the collar of his shirt, and pulled onto his back.

“You’re going to wait here,” Delphi says, face looming right in front of his. Her eyes are so cold and black. There’s barely any spark of life in them. “You’re going to lie here until I come back, and when I do we’ll continue this discussion.”

“Okay,” Scorpius breathes.

“Glad to hear it.” She grabs hold of his hair and twists his head to the side, pulling his hair hard enough that he lets out a cry of pain, but she doesn’t seem to care. “Silencio. Petrificus Totalus.”

Scorpius goes silent and his body goes rigid. Delphi drops him to the ground and he lies there, immobile and unable to talk. With his head tilted to the side he can see the space under the desk. He can see the notebook. He can see hope. He’s not dead, and he can see the thing that contains all the answers.

“Be good,” Delphi says, tapping her wand on his head, so the trickling sensation of a Disillusionment Charm passes down his whole body. “Oh, and I suppose I should...” She presses the tip of her wand to his temple, and Scorpius expects more torture, but instead she says “Obliviate” and his mind goes blissfully numb again.

When his thoughts coalesce he can hear footsteps walking away across the room he’s in. He knows that he’s covered in blood and vomit and urine but he doesn’t know how or why. His body is in unbearable pain but he can’t speak or move to get any release. He’s trapped, immobile, and whoever did this to him has just walked away.

Does anyone know he’s here besides them? Is he going to be rescued? Panic rises inside him and his chest gets tight. He tries to steady his breathing and keep calm. He tries to think about Albus. They were supposed to have a date. Maybe Albus will notice he’s missing. If Albus can find that he’s here – wherever here is – then maybe he’ll see all the blood and realise that Scorpius is invisible and abandoned on the ground. That thought calms Scorpius down a little, and he exhales a shaky breath, just about keeping his fear and pain at bay.

He gazes into the darkness under the desk and sees the pale pages of a notebook, hidden in shadow under there. That notebook is important. If anyone does come to save him they need to take that. That has the answers to everything. Nothing has ever been more important.

So as a rushing sound and a wash of emerald green floods the room then ebbs away and he settles in to wait either for oblivion or for salvation, he focuses all his thoughts on the book. His brain may be foggy and confused, he may have never felt more scared in his life, he may want to just lie here and cry, every inch of his body may be in the most excruciating pain, but the book gives him something to hold on to. The book is his reason to keep remembering; to stay alive, to stay conscious, to stay sane. The book is his reason to keep hoping for rescue.

Time passes. The sun wheels round in the sky beyond the window. Shadows shift and lengthen. And Scorpius lies utterly immobile, drifting in and out of consciousness, but always holding that one mantra in his head: the book is the answer, we need the book. The book is the answer, we need the book. The book is the answer, we need the book...


	12. Amends

_Scorpius tries to sneak into the house in silence, but his dad has a sixth sense for that sort of thing. He gets two steps up the grand staircase before Draco emerges from the passage down to the kitchen._

_“Scorpius? I need help down here. The pastry’s gone all crumbly but it shouldn’t be and I can’t fix it. You’re better at this sort of thing than I am.”_

_Scorpius bows his head and makes sure his face is well hidden behind his hands. “Can I get changed first?” He calls, not looking back at his dad. His voice sounds thick and nasal, like he has a bad cold. If his dad doesn’t notice it’ll be a miracle._

_“Are you okay?” Draco asks, and Scorpius hears the floor creak behind him. “You’re not sick, are you? If you’ve got a cold I’ll exempt you from pastry duties and you’ll just have to suffer my- Why is there blood on your shirt?”_

_Shit. Scorpius frantically twists round and finds that there are indeed a couple of specks of blood on the side of his shirt._

_“I-it’s nothing,” he says quickly. “I had a nosebleed, and-“_

_“That’s not a nosebleed.” Draco comes rushing up the steps, and Scorpius turns his head away and hides his face in his hands again, but it’s futile because his dad has already seen._

_“It’s nothing,” Scorpius mutters, keeping his head down as his dad plucks his hands away from his face._

_“You’re covered in blood,” Draco says hoarsely. “This doesn’t look like nothing.” He gently lifts Scorpius’s chin so he can see better, and Scorpius looks away, refusing to meet his eyes._

_Scorpius had been hoping his dad wouldn’t see any of this. He’d been hoping to sneak up to his room and sort himself out. But that was never going to happen, so now his dad gets to see the mess that’s been made of him: the broken, bleeding nose, the welts on his cheeks from a couple of stinging hexes, the black eye that he can feel blossoming by the second – it’ll be swollen shut soon enough. There’s a weird rash too, from where someone threw something in his face. He doesn’t know what it was but it stung, and some of it’s still caught in his hair._

_“Who did this to you?” Draco asks, in an ice cold voice of pure murder. Scorpius is never entirely sure what his dad is capable of, but every time he hears that voice he’s grateful that he’s never on the receiving end of his dad’s rage. He’s not sure he’d like to find out the extent of the darker end of his dad’s magical capabilities._

_“A couple of guys,” Scorpius mutters twisting his head away and trying to wipe an irritating trickle of blood from his nose without hurting it anymore._

_“Did you know them?” Draco asks._

_Scorpius shakes his head. “I think I recognised one of them from school, but I don’t know his name.”_

_“Where did they attack you? Did anyone see?”_

_“No,” Scorpius murmurs. “It was in Diagon Alley but the quiet part. Up near the Herbologist’s. There was no one around. Just... just them and me.”_

_Draco nods and clenches his fists. “All the same, we need to report this. We should go to Potter and- No, we should go to St Mungo’s and call Potter there. He needs to see this.”_

_Scorpius groans and looks at his dad. “I don’t need to go to St Mungo’s. I was going to fix it myself, but then you- We can sort me out. It won’t be hard. And I don’t want to report this. There’s no point.”_

_“No point?” Draco asks, the words exploding out of him. “Scorpius, you were attacked in Diagon Alley in broad daylight. How can there be no point in reporting that?”_

_“Because,” Scorpius says, lifting his chin and glaring at his dad despite his swollen eye. “I don’t want to give them the satisfaction. Anyway, no one will do anything. I’m just the son of Voldemort. This is what I deserve.” He can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice, and he knows his dad picks up on it, because Draco frowns at him._

_“Is that what they said to you?” He asks. “That you deserve it?”_

_Scorpius shakes his head. “No. It’s just what everyone will think.”_

_Draco opens his mouth, stunned, then closes it again and shakes his head. “This is-“ He takes a breath. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Then we’ll talk about this. Properly. Come on. Kitchen.” He gestures for Scorpius to go past him, and Scorpius goes._

_In the kitchen, Scorpius sits cross-legged on his chair and lets his dad fuss over him. Draco leans over him, casting spell after spell and muttering to himself._

_“What is this stuff?” He asks, as he brushes the crumbly powder substance out of Scorpius’s hair._

_Scorpius shrugs. “No idea. At least it wasn’t too poisonous.”_

_“Bad enough though. I don’t know if I can do anything about this rash except put some of this cream on it and hope it goes away.” He touches Scorpius’s chin again to hold him steady as he examines him. “Do you want me to-“_

_“I can do the cream,” Scorpius says, plucking it from his dad’s hand. “You do whatever else needs doing.”_

_“Are you-“_

_“Sure? Perfectly.”_

_Draco tuts. “Fine.” He points his wand at Scorpius’s nose. “Episkey.”_

_There’s a crunching click and a burst of intense pain that leaves Scorpius’s eyes watering. “Ow,” he groans. “Dad.”_

_“Don’t complain, it’s not broken anymore.”_

_Scorpius reaches up and gingerly pokes at his nose. It’s definitely a lot less tender now, and it seems to be back to its normal shape. “I was hoping it would be crooked,” he says. “So it would look less like yours.”_

_“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Draco says drily, now looking at the welts on Scorpius’s cheeks. “If you’d like me to break it again, I’m sure I can find a way.”_

_Scorpius sighs. “No, it’s fine. Thank you.” He starts rubbing cream onto the strange rash on his face, and they lapse into silence as Draco sets to work healing the welts and casting some sort of wonderful, cooling spell that instantly makes Scorpius’s eye less swollen._

_“That’s amazing,” Scorpius says, blinking a couple of times then looking around the room, enjoying being able to see again. “What is that spell?”_

_“Just a simple Anti-Inflammatory Charm. I’ll teach it to you later if you like.”_

_Scorpius nods. “It’s useful.” He looks up at his dad. “How do you know all this stuff? I don’t think I expected that you’d...” He trails off and shrugs._

_“Be any use?” Draco asks, stepping back to look at him properly. “Children get up to all sorts, Scorpius, especially children like you. I knew it would come in handy one day. I didn’t expect it to be like this exactly, but at least I’m prepared. You look better now.”_

_Scorpius twists round and peers at his reflection in the kitchen window. “I do. Thanks, Dad.”_

_Draco nods and goes to wash his hands. “That’s alright.” He scrubs his hands, rinses them, and dries them before he turns back to Scorpius. “I don’t know if this has happened before, and I know you won’t tell me if it has, but if it ever happens again I want you to know that I’ll help. Duelling Potter may be my default response to this sort of thing, but it’s not my only response. I can be useful too. I can help you. And if you want to talk about it or try and get help...” He trails off, looking hopelessly across at Scorpius. He sometimes seems so lost when he’s trying to say this sort of thing, and Scorpius understands – he normally feels he same – but he appreciates the attempt none the less._

_Scorpius nods and draws his feet up onto the chair so he can hug his knees. “I know,” he murmurs. “I just don’t like upsetting you, Dad. I hate it. I’d rather you not have to worry...”_

_“I’m going to worry regardless of what you do or don’t tell me,” his dad says. “So you might as well give me something specific to worry about. Then I might be able to help. Otherwise I’m just wasting my time and energy.”_

_“I suppose,” Scorpius murmurs._

_He looks at his dad a moment longer, then he gets to his feet, goes across, and hugs him tight round the middle, burying his face in his shoulder._

_“I’m sorry,” he whispers._

_Draco hugs him tight in return, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s not your fault. Never your fault. I promise.”_

_Scorpius closes his eyes and nods into his dad’s shoulder. “Okay.”_

_Draco strokes his hair for a moment, then Scorpius shifts away and looks at him._

_“You wanted help with some pastry?” He asks. “Let’s do that. I’m hungry.”_

_Draco’s expression brightens just a little. “Yes,” he says. “Pastry. Come and show me what to do.”_

Albus arrives early in Godric’s Hollow, and in an excellent mood. He’s spent the morning flying over the countryside near Bristol, he went shopping at a local market, and then he made himself a delicious soup for lunch. It’s been a good day, and it’s about to get better.

Even though the restaurant they’re going to isn’t in Godric’s Hollow itself, curiosity leads him to Apparate straight into the heart of the village. He’s never visited before, he’d always refused his dad’s invitations to go with him when he was living at home, but he finds that he wants to now.

He appears in the churchyard, tucked away by the backdoor to the church, and looks around, heart racing. There’s a weird electric energy running though his body simply because he’s here. He’s in Godric’s Hollow for the first time in his life, surrounded by his family’s history, and it’s a little bit terrifying but it’s also a little bit thrilling.

There’s no one around. The graveyard is deserted, and the street beyond is quiet. He sets off walking between the gravestones, enjoying the sharp heat on his face and the calm of the afternoon. The air is scented sweet thanks to broad flowerbeds running around the walls of the church, and the graveyard is neat and well kept. Albus finds it strangely comforting that his grandparents have been laid to rest in such a nice graveyard. After everything they did they deserve this sort of peaceful, beautiful resting place.

It takes him a few minutes of wandering among the graves before he finds them. Their gravestones are pale and perfectly maintained. Someone has been to lay flowers. There’s not a speck of lichen or moss on them, to the point that Albus wonders if they’ve been enchanted. The grass around them is neatly trimmed. Everything is perfect and well cared for.

He looks down at the graves, reading the familiar names and trying to decide what to do. Now he’s here he feels useless and inadequate. The graves have so clearly been loved and appreciated by someone, probably Harry, and Albus has been refusing to see them for so long that he almost feels like he doesn’t deserve to be there. He hasn’t done anything to show his appreciation, and starting now just isn’t good enough.

In the end he decides that, as stupid and useless as it seems, he really does want to leave flowers. Walking away without doing that would feel even worse than leaving a poor tribute. So he draws his wand, screws up all his focus and energy, and casts an Orchideous Charm.

It’s actually one of the spells that he’s alright at. He’s never had much cause to use it, but he picked up on it quite well in sixth year, and it works for him now. A second after he’s said the spell, two purple hyacinths bloom from the end of his wand, and he catches them in his hand, admiring them. They don’t look wilted or on the verge of death; in fact they seem robust, and the blooms are vibrant and bright.

Albus kneels in the short grass and lays the hyacinths at the bottom of the gravestones. He stays there for a moment, looking at his grandparents’ names – the names of his brother and sister – and not for the first time he feels an immeasurable distance between himself and the rest of his family. But very much for the first time, he understands that things are changing and that maybe one day he might feel part of the family.

“I hope me being here is okay,” he murmurs. “After everything... I’m sorry. I want the rest of them to be happy again. I-I want _us_ to be happy again. I’m fixing it, or trying to fix it. I hope you know that.” He glances around. “A-anyway. I should probably stop talking to myself and... Um. I’ll come back. Sometime. Sorry I haven’t come before. Sorry.”

He stumbles to his feet, cheeks burning. He feels like a bit of an idiot, but at least there‘s no one around to see. Before he can embarrass himself any more he turns and rushes away, getting out of the graveyard as fast as he can.

When he gets to the street he turns and walks towards the square, keeping his head down. He hasn’t disguised himself today. His hair is as long and unruly as ever, and his eyes are bright green. He looks like a Potter, and in a place like this that’s a little bit terrifying.

He can see the war memorial up ahead, and he keeps on the pavement, skirting round it instead of crossing the road to have a look. But as he approaches, the war memorial transforms. He sees it happen out of the corner of his eye, and immediately he stops dead and stares as the ordinary cenotaph becomes a statue. It’s not just a statue either, it’s a representation of people who are painfully familiar.

He rushes across the road to get closer, forgetting to look before he leaves the pavement, so a car screeches to a halt and beeps its horn at him, and he waves in apology before sprinting on. When he gets to the island where the statue rests, he walks round to the front and stares up into the faces of his grandparents.

James has the same hair as him and Harry, that’s the first thing he notices. Then he sees Lily’s soft expression as she gazes down at the baby in her arms. Albus can almost feel the love radiating out of her, and it hurts to see. It hurts to think that his dad lost that love so young. And it’s strange because Albus can remember that sort of love. As a child he remembers sitting on his dad’s knee for storytime, or playing Exploding Snap, or being taught how to ice cupcakes. But at some point that love melted away for him too, perhaps around the time when he stopped fitting in. He feels a pang of sympathy of his dad. It must have been hard for him too.

For a few minutes Albus stands and tries to take in every detail of the statue, then he drags his eyes away, taking the memory of it with him as he continues up the street towards where he knows the wreckage of the house is.

Albus doesn’t understand how anyone can live on this street with the ruins looming over them. As he approaches the house he can already see the charred beams and crumbling roof. Nature is reclaiming the structure; there’s ivy scrambling up the exposed woodwork and climbing roses peep through the gaps in the bricks. A big black bird, just like the Augurey he’d seen at the Riddle House, perches on one of the eaves as Albus reaches the house, and Albus wonders if birds and animals nest here, if it’s become the sort of sanctuary it was supposed to have been if the Fidelius Charm had worked properly. Despite that he thinks it looks bleak, casting a shadow over this beautiful, quiet street.

He stands in front of the gate and looks up at the house, focusing on the chunk missing from the side wall and roof where Voldemort’s rebounding curse tore through it. It’s difficult to imagine his dad ever having lived here. It’s a monument now, not a home, but once it was just like all the other idyllic cottages that line this street. Albus can’t quite get his head around it.

He takes a step towards the gate, not really wanting to go inside, but wanting to get a closer look. As he does he hears the voice of an elderly lady behind him.

“James?”

Albus spins round and sees that she’s looking right at him, and there’s no one else around that she can be talking to. “No,” he says. “I’m sorry. My brother’s called James, but I’m not...”

The lady glances to both sides, then starts crossing the road, pulling her shopping bag with her. “Harry, then. You’ve got the green eyes.”

Albus shakes his head. “No, um. He’s my dad. I’m Albus. Albus Severus Potter.”

“Oh!” The lady beams at him. “I haven’t seen you before. It’s very nice to meet you.” She shuffles across to him and offers her hand so he can shake it. “I’m Joan. I live at number 12, just down the road.”

Albus smiles at her. “Hi. Did you know James?”

She nods. “Oh yes, quite well. My husband helped him decorate when they first moved in. And Lily knew the most wonderful gardening spells.”

Albus grins. “Really?”

“Absolutely. I can tell you all about them if you’d like. Do you have time for a cup of tea?”

Albus glances at his watch. He’s not used to wearing it. It’s been sitting in the drawers beside his bed for years, still in its box, still inside the beautiful silk bag it had arrived in the day before he ran away. This is the first time he’s put it on, and he’s discovering that he actually quite likes it.

He has a quarter of an hour before he’s supposed to meet Scorpius, and that definitely isn’t enough time for tea. He doesn’t even know if he can get to the restaurant that quickly.

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking up at Joan. “I’m actually supposed to be meeting someone soon. Maybe another time?”

Joan looks at him with a twinkle in her eye. “A date?” She asks.

Albus nods. “I’m meeting my boyfriend for dinner.”

“Well dear, you enjoy yourself. I hope I’ll see you again sometime.”

“I’ll be back,” Albus promises. “Next time I might come with my dad.”

“Oh that would be nice,” Joan says, patting him on the hand. “Have a lovely evening.” She turns to walk away, but before she goes Albus calls after her.

“Joan?”

She glances back at him. “Yes, dear?”

“What’s it like?” He asks. “Living next to this?” He gestures up at the house behind him.

Joan’s smile fades, but she doesn’t seem unhappy, more contemplative. “Some days it’s harder than others,” she says. “But I think it’s always important to remember these things, especially for an old lady whose memory sometimes fails her. And I’d rather it be here than the Muggles knock it down and build over it. That would be a terrible shame.”

Albus nods and looks up at the house once more before turning back to Joan. “Thank you.”

She smiles. “You’re welcome. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.” Then she turns and walks away, pulling her bag behind her.

Albus sets off walking up the road. The restaurant he’s heading for is straight up, through the houses, and a little way along the country lane. It shouldn’t be hard to find, so he enjoys the walk. The sun is still shining in the evening sky, the birds are singing the day to sleep, a gentle breeze ruffles the bright flowers spilling through the cottage gardens that line the road, and Albus grins to himself as he realises that he’s running late enough for Scorpius to be waiting for him when he arrives.

He reaches the restaurant only five minutes late, which he thinks is a decent achievement given his detour. Scorpius isn’t round the front, but there are tables out in the garden at the back, and Albus assumes he’s gone to sit down, so he wanders around to have a look.

There are a few people sitting among the flowers sipping wine and chatting, but Scorpius isn’t among them. There’s not a hint of white blond hair to be seen, even when Albus peers in through the window to see if Scorpius has gone inside.

Frowning, Albus returns to the front of the restaurant and sits on the wall to wait. It’s not all like Scorpius to be late. Maybe Albus’s watch doesn’t keep time, maybe he’s really early or something. Or maybe Scorpius has been held up at work. He can’t always be on time after all...

The seconds tick by on Albus’s watch. A minute passes. Three minutes. Five minutes.

Scorpius must be here by now. Maybe Albus just didn’t spot him through the window. He gets up and goes into the restaurant. The person at the door smiles at him.

“Good evening. How can I help you?”

“I’ve got a reservation,” Albus says. “For Sev. I was supposed to be meeting someone though and I was wondering if he might have already arrived?”

The person glances down and shakes their head. “No. The table’s still free. Do you want to sit down and have a drink while you wait?”

Albus glances over his shoulder at the door. It would be sensible to take a seat, Scorpius is probably just around the corner now, but the idea of sitting and waiting alone with everyone watching him and feeling sorry for him because his date isn’t here is an awful one. What if Scorpius doesn’t come, after all? What if he’s come to his senses and decided that he doesn’t want to see Albus anymore, or-

Albus shakes his head. “No. Thank you. I’ll wait outside for now.”

“Alright. I’ll keep the table free until you’re ready, Mr Sev.”

Albus considers correcting him, but there are bigger things to worry about, like the absence of Scorpius. He just nods and goes back out into the evening air to sit on the wall and wait.

By the time it reaches half past seven, Albus isn’t sure whether to feel upset or worried. It doesn’t make any sense for Scorpius not to be here. He’d been excited about the date. They’d talked about it yesterday and Scorpius had said he was coming. At no point has Scorpius seemed anything other than enthusiastic about the relationship, so he can’t be standing Albus up because he doesn’t want to be here.

But if he’s not here because he can’t be here then that might be bad. Something might have happened.

A hundred different scenarios start to buzz through Albus’s head, each worse than the next. Scorpius is stuck in a meeting at work, Scorpius has Splinched himself on the way here, Scorpius has been attacked, Scorpius has been kidnapped, Scorpius has been killed.

Albus bolts to his feet, clenching his fists and trying to keep calm. It’s probably nothing. Everything is probably fine. Worrying is pointless. Most likely Scorpius has just been waylaid talking to someone or he’s lost track of time reading – he used to do that at school all the time.

But still. There’s a niggling worry in the back of Albus’s mind that tells him he needs to find out as quickly as he can where Scorpius is, and there’s only one logical person to ask about that, the one person who knows Scorpius best of all and probably knows exactly where he is right now.

Albus draws in a deep breath and turns on the spot, picturing Malfoy Manor. When he appears he finds himself outside a set of forbidding iron gates, decorated with curlicues that mimic a spiky thorn bush. Beyond, the driveway stretches away between an avenue of trees towards the distant house.

He peers through the gates, wondering if he’ll even be able to get in. It doesn’t look as though guests are welcome, but he can’t see a way of contacting the house from here, so he reaches out a hand to touch the iron. When he gives the gate a push it stays locked shut, just as he’d expected. He steps back to look at the gate, but there’s no lock or chain or anything. It must be shut magically, but it _has_ to let him in. He needs it to. For Scorpius.

“Scorpius is missing,” he tells the gate. “I need to talk to Draco. I need to ask where he is. Please let me in. I promise I’m a friend.”

For an instant nothing happens, then the gate swings slowly inwards, silent and steady. Albus clenches his fist in triumph.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you so much.”

He slips in through the gate, closes it behind him so it clicks shut, and sets off down the driveway.

It’s a long walk. The sun is slowly sinking in the sky, and even though it’s still bright the shadows are lengthening. It makes the drive feel rather overcast, shaded by the tall trees stretching to the sky on either side. Beyond there are wide grounds, rolling meadows, manicured lawns, flower beds and fountains, a patchwork of green broken by bright flashes of colour. It looks far more beautiful and peaceful than the imposing gates by the entrance might have suggested; in fact the house itself, with light shining from its many windows as evening draws in, looks like a beacon in the darkness, welcoming Albus in.

He’s never visited the Manor before. He always thought of it as terrifying, but now he’s here he finds that he’s more curious than anything. But today he has to put curiosity aside. Today he’s here for Scorpius, and today... Today he has to contend with Draco for the first time since he ran away.

Albus stops dead in his tracks as realisation hits him. He has to face Draco. After everything he’s put Scorpius through. After all the pain and heartbreak, and the way Scorpius’s dreams have been shattered, his future warped by Albus’s actions... This isn’t going to go well. How on earth is he supposed to explain that he’s here for Scorpius’s sake to a man who probably hates him?

And now there are other options running through Albus’s mind. He could have gone to his dad, Harry probably knows where Scorpius is just as well as Draco. He could have tried sending a Patronus message, or Flooing, that way he would have got straight to Scorpius and not had to go through Draco first. Coming here was a terrible idea, one of his worst ever. But he’s here now, halfway up the drive, and if Scorpius is in danger then at least Draco will be on his side, even if only temporarily. It’s better to do this quickly than turn back. Better for Scorpius. And this is about Scorpius, not about Albus.

He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and marches the rest of the way up to the house. When he gets there he doesn’t let himself pause, he goes straight up the steps before he can change his mind. There’s no door knocker, but there is a bell pull, so he tugs it, and the bell clangs through the house beyond the door, echoing through the hallways and corridors. That done, Albus steps back, trying to not look like he’s scared witless.

The echoes of the bell fade while he waits and nothing happens. He can’t hear any movement inside the house, but it’s so large that maybe that’s just because Draco was on the other side of it when he rang. The door is solid wood, so there’s nothing to be seen either. After a couple of minutes Albus begins to wonder whether maybe Draco didn’t hear, or whether maybe he was in the back garden or something. But just as he’s stepping forward to try the bell pull again, there’s the sound of clicking as the door unlocks, and then it swings inwards to reveal Draco Malfoy.

This is the first time Albus has ever directly spoken to him – previously they’ve only briefly interacted on Platform 9 3/4, and Scorpius was always there then, as were Albus’s parents. But now Albus is entirely alone, and it’s downright terrifying staring at Draco and watching his expression change from the calm, relaxed look of a man enjoying his evening at home to an ice cold glare that surely means murder. Even knowing he deserves it doesn’t make it any less awful to witness, and Albus wants to turn and run. But he can’t. He’s here for Scorpius.

“Um,” he starts.

“What do you want?” Draco asks, crossing his arms. “How did you even get past the gates?”

“I-I asked them to let me through,” Albus says. “Do you know where Scorpius is?”

Draco gives him a long look and doesn’t budge an inch. His posture is like a wall, like the solid rock face of a mountain, steadfast and impassable. “He’s supposed to be on a date with you.”

Albus swallows and shakes his head. “He didn’t come. I waited. I waited for a while, but he didn’t come. I was worried, and when I thought about who might know if he’s okay you were the first person I thought of. It’s not like him to-“

“Be late,” Draco finishes, a slight frown now creasing his forehead. “No, it’s not.” He unfolds his arms. “Did you ask if he was inside the restaurant already?”

Albus nods. “I did, and I went round the back to make sure. The table was free and I didn’t see him. He’s very distinctive. I would have spotted him.”

“Yes,” Draco says softly. “You would have.”

Albus looks at him. “So he’s definitely not here then?”

Draco draws his wand and waves it. A little diagram of the house appears in thin air. Most of it is dark and empty, with only the very front entrance glowing a soft gold. “We’re alone,” he says. “Scorpius went out this morning and he hasn’t been back since. I wasn’t expecting him until...” He scrutinises Albus carefully. “Well, I wasn’t entirely expecting him back tonight at all, despite what he promised.”

Albus’s cheeks heat up, and he plunges on, not wanting to dwell on that thought. “Do you know where he went? Because if he’s not with you and he’s not with me then he could be anywhere. I’m worried about him.”

“So that’s how you got through the gates,” Draco says thoughtfully. “You told the gates you were worried about Scorpius and they believed you.”

“I _am_ worried,” Albus insists. “Draco, what if something’s happened to him? We’ve already been attacked by Dementors and Fiendfyre. What if this time...” He trails off looking desperately at Draco, willing him to understand that they’re on the same side here, and that he wouldn’t have come if he wasn’t truly afraid that Scorpius is in danger.

Draco twists his hands together, running his fingers round the edge of his wedding ring. “Did he tell you that he’d managed to translate the note he picked up from Hangleton House?”

Albus shakes his head. “No, he didn’t. What did it say?”

“It mentioned a meeting place,” Draco says. “Have you heard of a bar called The Scythe? It’s in Knockturn Alley.”

“Of course I’ve heard of it,” Albus says. “Delphi loves that place. I‘ve only been there once, but she has meetings there a lot.”

Draco nods. “Scorpius thought it might be where she was staying. He went to investigate it. He was hoping to be done in time to meet you, so the fact that he hasn’t shown up...”

Albus’s heart sinks like a stone. All his insides feel like they’ve been sucked out, so he’s empty apart from concern. “Did he go alone?” He asks.

“Almost certainly,” Draco says.

“Then we need to go.” Albus stares at him wild eyed. “We need to go right now. Anything could have happened to him.”

“How late was he for the date?” Draco asks, and Albus doesn’t understand how he sounds so cool and calm. This is Scorpius’s safety they’re talking about.

“Over half an hour,” Albus says. “Please, Draco. We need to go. _Please_.”

“Over half an hour,” Draco repeats in a murmur. That seems to be what’s needed for the severity of the situation to sink in, because all of a sudden he comes alive. He sweeps his wand through the air and holds out a hand. A second later he’s pulling a dressing gown on over the top of his wine-red silk pyjamas. He summons his shoes too, slipping them onto his feet and making the laces tie themselves, while he brushes his hair out of his eyes. It’s hanging free of its usual plait, and it’s not at its neatest right now, but he doesn’t seem to care. He pulls the front bits back and ties them to keep them off his face, and that seems to be good enough for now, because next second he’s stepping out of the front door and locking it behind him.

“Come on,” he says to Albus. “Let’s go.”

Albus turns around on the step and watches Draco descend. “You’re going to Knockturn Alley dressed like that?”

Draco glances back at him. “Do I need to be wearing my finest dress robes for the occasion? As you pointed out, Scorpius has been missing for over half an hour already. I’m not letting another second go to waste, which means that yes, I’m going to Knockturn Alley dressed like this, and no one is going to stop me.”

He looks so impressive and regal, and his expression is so serious as he glares at Albus, that Albus immediately regrets ever asking about his attire. Albus rushes down the steps after him, trying to keep pace, even though Draco is now walking so fast and with such a long stride that Albus almost has to run to keep up.

“So Scorpius told you about The Scythe?” Albus asks. “Did he say what he was hoping to find there?”

“Proof,” he says without so much as a glance at Albus. “Evidence. He wants to know what your friend is up to, what she’s planning. I don’t see why you couldn’t have saved him the trouble and simply told him.”

“I don’t know,” Albus says, jogging a couple of steps to gain ground. “Delphi never tells me what she‘s up to. I know she meets lots of people, I know she’s working on a project, but she doesn’t tell me things. I promise if I knew anything I would have told him.”

“Don’t best friends talk about that sort of thing?” Draco asks, drawing his wand as they approach the gates. “Don’t they share plans?”

“Friends have secrets sometimes,” Albus replies, feeling distinctly like he’s being attacked here. “Friends have separate lives.”

“Do you keep secrets from Scorpius?” Draco asks, finally turning to look at him.

Albus swallows. “Not really.”

“Not really,” Draco echoes. “That doesn’t sound like you’re sure.” He taps his wand on the gates, which swing slowly open.

Albus looks down at his hands. “He’s the person I tell most to. Not everything, because... some things I don’t like talking about. But I don’t keep things from him. Especially not the things he should know.” He digs his hands in his pockets and looks at Draco. “Before I left I didn’t talk to anyone about anything. But now, particularly after the last week, I’ve realised how much it helps. I would tell Scorpius anything, and I don’t expect the same back, but I need you to know that I trust your son with everything. If there’s anything I haven’t told him it’s because I haven’t worked up the courage yet. And that’s my fault; not his.”

“Has Scorpius told you what happened to him after you left?” Draco asks, gesturing for Albus to go ahead of him through the gates.

Albus goes out onto the road and turns back to face Draco. “I saw in the papers. People thought he kidnapped me. Killed me. They blamed him even though it wasn’t his fault. I don’t know how to correct that, but I’m going to keep trying.”

“It was more than just those rumours,” Draco says, turning his back on Albus as he closes and locks the gates. “It was what they caused.”

Albus frowns at him. “What do you mean?”

Draco taps his wand against the gates and murmurs something, then he turns to face Albus, wand still in hand. “He suffered in school. He found it difficult, not just because you were absent but also because of the bullying. When we lost Astoria he coped in part because you were there. When he lost you he had no one. That’s why he is where he is. That’s why he’s not following his dreams.”

Albus opens his mouth to say that he knows that already, that he’s trying to work out how to fix it, but the futile words die in his mouth. He hugs himself and hunches his shoulders, bowing his head as Draco continues.

“After he got his N.E.W.T. results he cried himself to sleep for weeks. I heard him. In fact I don’t think he’s had a proper night’s sleep since you left. But it was more than that.” He brushes a loose bit of hair out of his eyes and smooths the collar his dressing gown. “One day he went to Diagon Alley and came home covered in blood and bruises. People don’t take kindly to encountering the Son of Voldemort in the street.”

“What?” Albus breathes.

“It happens far more often than it should.” Draco folds his hands, skimming his thumb over the opal on his wedding ring. “It still happens. Because people believe what they hear, and they don’t know what I know – what I hope you have a full appreciation of – that Scorpius is one of the best people alive. Good, kind, brave, unwarped despite everything he’s suffered. The world doesn’t deserve to have someone like him in it. We don’t deserve him. But we’ve got him, and he needs to be protected, appreciated, loved.”

Albus nods, speechless.

“In the past I think you’ve only done one of those things,” Draco says. “I don’t doubt that you love him, and I certainly don’t doubt that your love makes him exceptionally happy. But if you’re going to continue to be around my son then I also need to know that you’re going to appreciate and protect him. Do you understand?”

Albus nods again. When he tries to speak his voice gets stuck in his throat, and he has to cough before he gets his words out. “I-I understand, sir.”

“Good.” Draco holds his arm out to Albus. “I know where we’re going. I’ll Apparate.”

Albus grips his arm, still reeling, and the Apparition leaves him even dizzier than usual, so that when they appear in a dark back alley he stumbles to the side and has to grab at the wall to stay upright. Draco doesn’t steady him.

“The Scythe is this way,” he says, setting off down the alley, leaving Albus to scramble after him.

“Sir,” Albus says, rushing after him. “I do appreciate him. I do, I...” He catches up to Draco and pauses for a moment, catching his breath. “Scorpius is... I don’t even know. But you know what I mean. He’s indescribable. And when I saw him last week... He brought something back to my life that I didn’t even realise I was missing. He’s...” Albus gestures hopelessly with his hands, trying to find the words, and Draco lets him struggle. “He’s my connection. He helps me be myself. He helps me be happier and braver. He helps me do the things I didn’t think I could do. He’s inspiring, I think. And he deserves so much more than he has, so much more than what I’ve given him, and I know that, I-“

He stops dead in the middle of Knockturn Alley and looks at Draco, who’s stopped too. Draco’s eyes are black in the fading evening light. With his hair down and the robe swirling around him he cuts a striking, powerful, imposing figure. He looks regal, like the sort of person Albus shouldn’t dare to speak around, but Albus has never done as he’s told, breaking the rules is what he does, so he keeps talking.

“Draco, I’m in love with your son. I always have been. But I was so wrapped up in myself that I didn’t see it, and I didn’t see the damage I was causing, and I’m so so sorry for that. I’ve done a rubbish job of protecting him, but I want to do better. Starting today. Starting with finding him and making sure he’s safe. A-and starting by saying sorry for everything I’ve ruined in the past. I am so _so_ sorry, sir.”

Draco gives him a very long, hard look. “I’m not sure it’s me you need to apologise to, Albus.”

Albus nods. “I know that. But you do deserve an apology as well because you’ve had to pick up the pieces I keep leaving behind. It’s always you. And I hope you can forgive me enough to let me back into Scorpius’s life.”

“He’s an adult,” Draco says. “He may be my son but he’s a capable young man who can choose for himself who he wants around. And whether I like it or not, he’s chosen you. What I ask is that you don’t make him regret it, and that you help us make his life everything that it should be.”

Albus stands up straight, almost to attention, and nods. “I will, sir. I promise.”

Draco sighs and tucks a bit of hair behind his ear. “And you can stop calling me sir. I like the authority but it makes me feel old.”

“Right,” Albus says. “Sorry, um... Yes. Sorry.”

“Now,” Draco says, gesturing down the street. “I believe we have a job to do. If you have any standing in this place, and if you being Delphi’s friend gives you any benefits, I need you to use them now. There’s only so much I can do alone. If something _has_ happened to Scorpius, or even if it hasn’t, I’m not expecting this to be easy.”

Albus looks down at himself. He hadn’t expected to have to be Sev today. He’d wanted to be himself for Scorpius. He’s not dressed how Sev would be: Sev wouldn’t be caught dead in this jacket. And then there’s the problem that his hair is too long, his eyes the wrong colour. If he wants to play the Sev card he’s going to need help with some magic.

He pulls his jacket off. “Can you make this disappear in a way that I can get it back later?” He asks. “If I want favours I can’t wear this.”

Draco takes it and taps it with his wand. It instantly disappears into thin air. “I’ve sent it to the Manor.”

“And can you disguise me?” Albus asks. “I need my hair shorter and my eyes need to be brown. Chestnut brown, like my mum’s.”

Draco frowns at him. “So you were deliberately trying to look less like your dad. I mean I can’t say I blame you.”

“Yes,” Albus says. “I was. Can you help?”

Draco waves his wand, and for a second Albus’s vision blurs, but then he blinks and it’s restored. His hair is shorter too, cropped tight to his head, exactly as Sev’s would be.

“Perfect,” Albus says. “Thank you.” As one final touch he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt and rolls the sleeves up past his elbows, so his tattoos and the scars on his left arm are clearly visible. He knows his favourite snake earring is in his trouser pocket, and he pulls it out now and attaches it to his ear, so the silver body slithers round the edge of his cartilage. He can hear the snake hissing and tasting the air, pleased to see the light of day for the first time in a few days.

“Well,” Draco says, looking Albus up and down. “You certainly look impressive.”

Albus smiles. “You too.”

“If this doesn’t work, nothing well. Let’s go.”

They set off side by side down the street, and Albus tries to inject some of Sev’s cocky confidence into his stride, even though it feels as though a family of Doxies are buzzing around inside his stomach. His mind keeps running through the worst of possibilities. They find Scorpius and he’s injured. They find Scorpius and he’s dead. They don’t find Scorpius at all. This must be how his family felt when he first went missing and no one knew where he was. It’s truly awful, and when he gets the chance he’s going to apologise again, because he wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

Beside him, Draco’s expression is grim and serious. Albus wonders if he’s feeling the same sense of dread. There’s no way he’s not, he’s Scorpius’s dad after all. It’s his job to worry about Scorpius.

Up ahead of them, the sign of The Scythe swings in the evening breeze. The street is very quiet, and Albus can hear it creaking. There’s a magical light illuminating the front of the bar, making the painted walls shine a bright white. It almost glows in the dimly lit street, and the sign swinging outside is a black, shadowy shape, cruel, curved, sharp.

Albus pauses outside the door and looks at Draco for instructions. “Are you going to talk? And are we lying to get in or are we saying why we’re here?”

“I’ll start,” Draco says. “You can back me up when I don’t get anywhere.”

Secretly, Albus thinks that anyone who says no to Draco right now must have a death wish, but he doesn’t say so. He just nods. “Alright. After you then.”

Draco lifts his head, drawing himself up to his full and impressive height – Albus feels very small beside him – and he marches through the door into the bar. Albus hangs in the doorway and watches, not wanting to reveal himself just yet.

“Good evening,” Draco says, without waiting to be addressed by the man tending the door. “I’m sure you know why I’m here. My son came here earlier and I haven’t seen him since. I’d like to know whether you saw him leave, or if he’s still here.”

The man looks him up and down. “I’m not sure what you mean. I haven’t seen your son here, Mr Malfoy.”

Draco gives an impatient sigh and puts one hand in his pocket. “Please don’t make me escalate this. Just tell me if Scorpius is still here or not. It’s a very simple question.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” the man says, the slight smirk creeping across his lips suggesting that he’s enjoying himself immensely.

Draco draws his wand and points it at the man. “Would you like to rethink that?”

The man shrugs. “Not especially. You don’t scare me, Mr Malfoy. There’s far worse than you around.”

Draco nods. “That’s another thing you might want to rethink.” He doesn’t lower his wand, and there’s a long, tense moment of standoff. Albus can’t take it anymore. He steps over the threshold and strolls inside.

“Sev,” he says to the man, ignoring Draco. “Delphi told me to come here. She said I should wait in that room upstairs that she likes so much.”

The man looks at him. “She didn’t mention that.”

Albus shrugs. “Last minute change of plans. She does that sometimes. I think she wants me to meet another sponsor or something. Who knows.” He sighs and rolls his eyes.

The man glances down at his notes and nods. “Fine. She’s got the room all evening anyway. She’s not here yet, but I can’t imagine she’ll be long.”

“Thanks,” Albus says, flipping the man a Galleon from his pocket. He strides towards the door of the bar without even glancing at Draco. When he gets there he glances back. “Oh, and she wanted me to Firecall her tomorrow morning. Can you remind me her address? I’d ask her but I’ll forget once I’ve started drinking.”

The man smirks. “Of course. Room Three. But if you forget again just call the general address and we can put you through.”

Albus nods. “I might just do that. Thanks.” He tosses the man a Sickle this time, and as he turns away he makes direct eye contact with Draco and gives him a look that he hopes says ‘find another way in and meet me upstairs’, then he strides off into the bar, leaving Draco to work out how to get inside. As he steps out of the lobby he hears Draco say ‘how much would it cost me to get an answer?’

Now that Albus is inside, he just has to hope that Scorpius really is up in Delphi’s room. If he’s not then he could be anywhere, but Room Three is the logical place to start, so Albus slips up the stairs towards the upper room, then keeps going all the way up the spiral staircase until he comes to Delphi’s floor.

He finds her room hidden round a corner, by the front of the building, and he tests the handle to find that it’s locked. Delphi is always careful about locking up everything she owns. She’s always meticulously clean and tidy, and Albus has long wondered if she’s trying to hide something from him. He’s never asked if she is though. In a lot of ways he’d rather not know.

He doesn’t know the locking spell she uses, he realises as he frowns at the door. There’s a lock on the door, but he doesn’t have a key, and he doubts that’s the only way she’s locked it. He could try picking the lock, but that might alert her. It’s not really worth the risk. Probably better to wait for some word from Draco about whether he needs help getting in.

Albus turns and paces down the corridor, trying to keep his footsteps absolutely silent so no one knows he’s up here. He keeps his ears strained for any hint of commotion coming from downstairs. There’s nothing yet. No sound of a duel or of approaching footsteps.

He turns and walks back the other day, tapping his fingers anxiously against his left arm. Maybe he shouldn’t bother waiting. Maybe he should try and force the lock open himself. There might be a spell he can use, or maybe he can find something to use as a lock pick. If Draco’s been turned away then it might take him a while to work out another way in. Every second of lost time could be making Scorpius’s situation worse. They could be losing him right now.

It would be really stupid to try and open the lock without Draco’s magical prowess. He could alert Delphi or trigger a trap or anything. But he’s Albus. And he’s Sev. Stupid decisions are what he does best. He spins around and marches back to start trying to open the door.

Thankfully, Draco doesn’t give him long to mess it up. He’s only just knelt down to examine the lock when he hears hurried footsteps behind him, and Draco appears on the landing.

“How much did it cost you to get in?” Albus asks, glancing up.

“Nothing,” Draco says. “But there’s a man downstairs currently being attacked by his own enormous flying bogeys.” If Albus didn’t know better, he’d think that Draco was very pleased with himself for that.

“You used the Bat Bogey Hex on him?” Albus asks, beaming up at him in delight.

Draco gives a modest shrug. “I may have done. Would you like me to have a look at that door?”

“Please,” Albus says, getting up and stepping back.

Draco draws his wand and gives the lock a couple of taps, then he mutters an incantation and a ghostly key forms, which Draco inserts into the lock and turns. The door clicks and swings open.

“Perfect,” Draco says. “After you.”

Albus doesn’t really want to go ahead of Draco into the room but he also doesn’t really want to argue about it, so he leads the way inside.

The first thing that hits him is the smell. Something bad has happened in here, that much is obvious. It smells of drying blood and urine and sick, and Albus pauses on the threshold, holding onto the doorframe as he swallows and tries to start breathing through his mouth instead of his nose.

“A-at least it doesn’t smell like someone’s died in here,” he says, mostly to comfort himself.

Draco touches his shoulder. “Be careful.”

Albus nods and covers his mouth and nose with one hand as he moves further inside.

It’s a very spartan room. There’s nothing besides a bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and a set of bedside drawers. There’s a grey blanket on the bed but other than that everything is bare. There’s no decoration or mess, or really any sign that anyone lives here.

“Can you see anything?” Albus murmurs. “What are we looking for?”

“I’m not sure,” Draco replies. He draws his wand and steps past Albus, but then stops instantly without casting a spell. “Blood,” he says, pointing to a stain on the floor. He bends down and peers under the desk, but comes up shaking his head. “Nothing.”

“What happened here?” Albus whispers, staring down at the dark spot.

“Nothing good,” Draco replies. He raises his wand and gives it a sharp flick. “Hominum Revelio.”

A dark shadowy smoke creeps out of his wand and slowly begins to form into the shape of a person. It coalesces, and Albus recognises his own short figure and sharp features.

“Yes,” Draco sighs. “Obviously. Anyone else? Aside from us.”

The figure dissolves and the smoke hangs in the air for a moment, then it reforms. The form it creates this time is tall and slim, with a slightly awkward posture, but a well-proportioned, intelligent, kind face. The shadow of Scorpius revolves in the air, blinking up at Albus and Draco, and Draco exhales.

“He’s alive,” he breathes. “And he’s here. Somewhere.” He turns on the spot. “Scorpius? Can you hear me? I’m here. Albus is here. We’re going to help you.”

They both stay totally silent for a moment, listening for anything that might give away where Scorpius is, but there’s no sound.

“Unconscious,” Draco murmurs. “Perhaps.”

Albus nods and goes over to the wardrobe, pulling the doors open, but there’s nothing inside. Next he stoops down and draws his wand, lighting it and shining it under the bed. Again there’s nothing to be seen. But there are no other hiding places, and Scorpius has to be somewhere.

“Is there a bathroom?” Albus asks, turning around on the spot.

Draco doesn’t answer. He’s crouching on the floor in a corner of the room, holding a wand in his hands that Albus instantly recognises as Scorpius’s. “He’s been Disarmed,” Draco murmurs, looking up at Albus. He gets to his feet and sweeps his wand across the whole room and says loud and clear: “Finite Incantatem.”

Albus feels the spell wash over him. It flashes through the whole room, and because Albus is expecting nothing, he’s taken completely by surprise as a shape appears on the ground. It’s like an invisibility cloak has been stripped away, and there, lying by the desk, deathly pale and covered with blood is-

“Scorpius.” Draco takes the two strides across to him and drops to his knees beside him.

“Dad,” Scorpius croaks. It looks like it’s hurting him to turn his head and look at Draco, but he does it anyway.

“What happened?” Draco asks, hovering a shaking hand by his head. He seems like he wants to stroke Scorpius’s hair, but doesn’t dare touch him in case he hurts him.

Scorpius gives the tiniest shake of his head, but he doesn’t seem capable of saying anything else.

Albus wants to go over to him but he can’t move. He’s transfixed, staring in horror at the state of his boyfriend.

Scorpius must have been dressed up nicely for their date, but now his shirt is in tatters. There are three long rips through it, and the white material is stained brown with blood. Almost the whole thing is covered in it. There must have been a _lot_ of blood, and Albus can see where it’s come from. There are three ugly, jagged gashes across Scorpius’s body. Someone has healed them, but they still look awful, and dried blood is crusted on his skin.

The tight, silver grey trousers he’s wearing are stained dark in places. There’s dried vomit on his face and in his hair. He’s so pale that he looks almost ghostly, and his gaze is unfocused. His eyes keep drifting closed, like he’s barely clinging to consciousness. And beyond the physical symptoms there must be more, all sorts of invisible spell damage that they can’t see.

“He needs St Mungo’s,” Albus breathes. “He needs-“ His hands are shaking and he can feel himself shattering inside. He feels sick, and he can’t help but feel that this is his fault. That if things had gone differently Scorpius wouldn’t be like this. Scorpius _shouldn’t_ be like this. A chain of events that began with Albus running away has led to this point, this point where Scorpius is hurt, this point where Scorpius is struggling to stay conscious.

“A-Albus,” Scorpius says, voice catching in his throat.

Albus goes over to him and kneels next to him, taking his hand and resting his forehead against Scorpius’s soft skin. There are tears stinging his eyes, and he squeezes them shut. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, Scorpius. I’m so so sorry.”

“Sshh,” Scorpius breathes, reaching across to try and touch him, but that movement seems to hurt him, because he groans and curls in on himself, drawing his hand back from Albus’s grip. He closes his eyes, screwing his face up as he clutches at his stomach, and when Albus looks at him he sees fresh blood blossoming over the stains on his shirt.

“St Mungo’s,” Draco says. “Now. We need to move.” He moves forward, trying to scoop Scorpius into his arms, but Scorpius manages to find the strength to push his hands away.

“No, no. Not without the-“ He grimaces and shifts on the ground, pressing his hand harder against his stomach. “The book.”

“What book?” Albus asks. He looks around. “There’s no book.”

“Yes,” Scorpius whimpers as he struggles to sit up, but collapses onto the ground. “There is.”

“We’re going to the hospital,” Draco insists, trying once again to pick Scorpius up.

“No,” Scorpius says, voice rising. He sounds on the edge of tears, and he wriggles free of his dad’s grip and rolls over, still curled up and hugging himself as blood drips from his sodden shirt. “The book.” His hand is outstretched, and he meets Albus’s eyes. Albus realises then that he’s pointing. It looks like he’s pointing under the desk, but Albus hadn’t seen anything under there before.

“I’ll find the book,” Albus says. “Let your dad take you. You’re bleeding, Scorpius.”

“The book,” Scorpius repeats, voice soft and weak but full of desperation. His eyes flutter closed, and he draws in a shaking, shallow gasp of air. He’s paler than ever now, and Albus is torn between looking under the desk and just grabbing him and dragging him to the fire to Floo to St Mungo’s.

Draco seems to sense Albus’s indecision, because he goes over to the desk. “Just do it. He won’t be reasoned with.” He lights his wand. “What am I looking for?”

“Book,” Scorpius says, almost inaudible. “Important.”

“Yes, I know, but...” Draco reaches under the desk and pulls out a leather bound journal. “This thing?”

Scorpius opens his eyes, and sheer relief floods his face. He nods and his eyes flutter closed again. “Give it... to Harry.”

“But it’s blank,” Draco says. “Why do we need a-“ He looks down at Scorpius and seems to decide that Scorpius’s need is too great for argument. There’s blood spattering on the floor now, and staining Scorpius’s fingers. His breathing has become painfully shallow, and Albus guesses that if they tried taking Scorpius’s pulse they’d find it weak and thready.

“Will you let us take you now?” Draco asks. “Is this what we need?”

Scorpius makes a soft humming noise of ascent, and his eyelashes flicker but he doesn’t have the strength to open his eyes anymore. He rolls onto his back, hand still resting on his stomach, but he’s not putting any pressure on it. Maybe he no longer has the strength.

“Pick him up,” Draco commands. “Take him. You’re smaller and stronger than me. The Floo will be easier.”

Albus nods, not needing to be told twice. He scoops Scorpius up into his lap and struggles to his feet. There’s no resistance now, and Scorpius is a dead weight in his arms. From the way Scorpius’s head is lolling, Albus guesses he’s unconscious. There’s barely any movement at all from him, and Albus doesn’t know how much time he has left.

“Can you get the powder?” He asks. “Quick.”

Draco strides across to the fireplace, holding the book in both hands like it’s sacred. When he gets there he takes a handful of powder and throws it into the hearth. Instantly emerald flames erupt, and Albus staggers across and into the fireplace, doing his best to protect Scorpius’s head but only able to do so much.

“St Mungo’s,” he says through the soot and smoke, and he and Scorpius start spinning through the network of fireplaces.

Normally Floo travel seems overwhelming and instantaneous. It’s a blur of motion and heat. But today it seems to take forever. Fireplace after fireplace flashes past, and Albus’s frustration grows. There are tears stinging his eyes again, and maybe it’s the soot, maybe it’s the frustration, or maybe it’s because he can no longer feel Scorpius’s laboured attempts at breathing. There’s not even a shallow movement of his chest anymore, and now Albus is covered in Scorpius’s blood too. It’s dripping from Scorpius’s saturated shirt and plopping into the fire where it hisses and burns, sending up smoke. This is taking too long. They’re losing Scorpius right now. Albus can’t hold him much longer. His legs are sinking under the weight and it’s all he can do to stay upright and keep a grip on him.

The spinning starts to slow, and Albus grits his teeth, groaning and grimacing as he tries to hold on. Two more fireplaces inch past, then another, then another, then-

Albus staggers out into the chaos of St Mungo’s waiting room. There are people everywhere, squawking and flapping and singing and floating around by the ceiling. A hundred different magical maladies are all around them, and there are Healers too, plenty of them, but amongst the noise and madness Albus feels invisible. No one has noticed two lost boys covered in blood. No one has noticed that Scorpius is dying. No one cares.

“Help us!” Albus shouts. “Please. He needs help. He’s dying.” His voice breaks and he curls his body around Scorpius’s, sobbing, certain that no one will come because when has anyone ever helped either of them?

A warm hand closes around his shoulder and he hears a soft female voice beside him.

“Can you let go of him for a second, sweetheart?”

Albus shakes his head. “He’s hurt. I don’t want him to go.”

“We need to help him. Come here.”

Someone touches Albus’s hands, encouraging him to release his grip on Scorpius and he does, hiding his face and curling up into a tiny ball instead.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Sev,” Albus says. “Albus. I-I don’t know.” He sniffs in a desperate breath and gulps down his sobs. “Is he going to die?”

“Not if we can help it.” An arm wraps round his shoulders. “Why don’t you take a seat for a minute? I’ll get you some water. Are you here on your own?”

“With him,” Albus says, stumbling to his feet.

“Is there anyone else? Or is it just the two of you?”

Albus shakes his head. “No, there’s-“

“Where is he?” Draco comes spilling out of the fireplace in a cloud of ash. Albus sees him through the blur of tears, rising to his feet, the dressing gown swirling around him, a terrifying presence. “Albus, where have they taken him?”

Albus doesn’t know. He didn’t see. Another failure. He’s supposed to be protecting Scorpius but now Scorpius is hurt and Albus doesn’t even know where they’ve taken him to help him.

“Are you two together?” The Healer asks.

Albus looks up at Draco, not knowing if he’s welcome to say yes.

“We are,” Draco says. “He’s my son’s boyfriend. Where has Scorpius gone?”

“They’re treating him now. We’ll let you see him as soon as we can... How about I go and try to find out what’s happening?”

Draco nods. “Yes. That would be helpful. Thank you.”

When the Healer leaves, Albus lifts his head from his hands and looks at Draco.

“I-I’m sorry,” he says, shaky with tears. “I’m really really...” He trails off, taking a long breath.

“Don’t be,” Draco says, shaking his head.

“But-“

“A lot of things are your fault, Albus, but not this. Don’t apologise for this.”

Albus wipes at his tears but stops when he realises his still has blood on his hands, Scorpius’s blood. “It is my fault though,” he says in a small, broken voice. “It is.”

“And when he survives,” Draco says, “it’ll also be thanks to you.” He reaches out a trembling hand and puts it on Albus’s shoulder, then he draws Albus into a hug.

Albus is so stunned that he lets it happen. He leans against Draco’s side, looking like Sev, tears dripping down his face, covered in Scorpius’s blood, his heart shattered into pieces.

“I think we should call your dad,” Draco says softly, rubbing Albus’s back.

Albus doesn’t know if that’s the best or worst suggestion in the world, but he doesn’t have it in him to provide an opinion, so he buries his tearstained face in Draco’s shoulder and accepts whatever the near future brings.


	13. Lost

_Rain pounds down out of the black sky. A flash of lightning illuminates the slick, jagged cliff-sides of the snaking gorge, and a rumble of thunder echoes across the landscape an instant later. A harsh winter wind swirls between the sheer rock walls, stirring up the rain so it scatters in no particular direction._

_At the top of the gorge, Albus can barely stand up straight because he’s being buffeted so hard by the wind. He clutches the wet handle of his broom as tight as he can so he doesn’t let go, and when he mounts up, he’s blown sideways and only just manages not to come off. Only an idiot would fly in these conditions, an idiot with a death wish, and today that’s a perfect description of Albus._

_It’s through sheer force of will alone that he manages to take off and hover without being thrown halfway across the hillside. He hangs steady in the air, clinging to the broom with hands and feet, eyes narrowed as the wind sends a wall of rain straight into his face, lashing at him hard enough to sting. Even with his goggles on, it’s nearly impossible to see more than a few feet in front of him, but regardless, he leans forward and edges away into the gorge._

_Instantly the wind switches. A strong tail wind lifts his broom and flings it out of control into the gorge. If Albus hadn’t been expecting it, it would have flipped him over and sent him to his death, but he knows this place like the back of his hand, and it gives him the speed he was looking for._

_He hurtles into the shadow of the gorge. It’s so dark and the rain is so heavy that he’s effectively blind, flying by touch alone, and he’s not even really doing that because his hands are so painfully numb with cold. It’s muscle memory and luck that keep him from dashing himself on the jagged rocks. But on a night like this it doesn’t matter that he’s always a millimetre, a split second, from oblivion. On a night like this he’s only here because he doesn’t care anymore. On a night like this he’s here because no one cares. There’s not a soul in the world, including himself, who would mind if he ended the evening in a hundred tiny pieces, spattered across the cliffs. It would probably be a relief for everyone._

_And this is the secret to Sev’s success. He has nothing to lose, nothing to tie him down, no one to miss him. He’s alone in this world and that makes him fearless. Nights like this are his best training, because if he can fly fast in this then he can win any race thrown at him. Nights like this might also be his downfall, but if they are then at least he’ll go out with his heart pounding in his chest, body flooded with adrenaline, feeling alive._

_He flattens himself against his broom handle and lets go of everything and everyone. He’s alone, unwanted, with only his speed to give him any validity in the world. He exists to win races, and as much as he wishes there was more to it than that, there isn’t._

_Sev is a racer,_ only _a racer, and Albus was left behind in the Slytherin boys’ dormitory on his seventeenth birthday. Flying is all that’s left. There’s no turning back now, no changing it, no escaping what he’s created for himself. This rain-slick broom and these tight twists and turns are all that matter in his life. If he tames them both then he’s a hero; if he doesn’t then what’s the point of him anyway?_

_He weaves and turns and fights the wind. He shouldn’t still be alive but he is. And when he gets to the bottom of the gorge he flies back up, bowing his head against the wind, and does it all again. Each time he survives. Each time he cares a little bit less. Each time he flies with more flair and reckless abandon. This is the cycle of his life now until it ends. This is Sev’s world, and Albus can’t help but wish that he didn’t have to share it._

The wooden arm of the chair digs into Albus’s side, but he doesn’t move. He’s curled up beside Scorpius’s bed, trying to use the still, darkened room to lull himself to sleep, but he’s been here for hours and even though he’s exhausted, sleep isn’t coming.

He blinks and yawns, then peers through the gloom to see if there’s any sign of Scorpius waking up. There’s no movement from the bed. Scorpius is still lying flat on his back, blond hair spread across the pillow and shining in the faint light. There are bandages wrapped round his body and they’re still crisp white; he’s not bleeding anymore. He’s breathing now too. Even in the low light Albus can see his chest gently rising and falling. They’ve been told that he’ll wake up whenever he’s ready. It’s a waiting game.

A thin gold line in the air traces Scorpius’s heartbeat, the steady, determined pulse of life within him. From the outside everything looks fine, but another spell that’s hanging in the air next to it tells a different story.

A shadowy figure swirls with different colours that seem to change and shift by the second. Albus isn’t completely sure how to interpret the diagram – a Healer had explained it to them earlier but he’d been too busy staring at Scorpius’s unconscious form to pay attention – but he does know that the spell maps the injuries and spell damage scattered across Scorpius’s body, and he understands that red is bad.

There’s a lot of red. Most of it is in Scorpius’s head, a whole cluster of it, caused by multiple spells. Albus has tried to make himself stop staring at it but he hasn’t been able to yet. He wishes the Healers would dismiss the spell, but they’ve said they need it to monitor progress. Albus is no expert but he thinks they’re wasting their time. There is no progress. The situation just continues to be bad.

He rubs his eyes and bows his head. When he blinks it feels like he’s blinking sand. He’s so tired, but he can’t sleep.

A door clicks open across the room, and he jumps far too violently for such a tiny noise. His head jerks up and he stares wildly at the figure coming through the door. It’s just his dad, he realises. His dad, looking about as exhausted as he feels.

There’s soot smudged on his forehead, and he scratches at it and runs a hand through his hair before he realises Albus is watching him. He drops his hand to his side and comes over.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I wish I was,” Albus says, voice hoarse and scratchy. “What did they say?”

“Nothing.” Harry drops into the seat beside him. “They’ve tried absolutely everything with that book but they’ve got nowhere. The only thing they haven’t done yet is Parseltongue, and I don’t think any of us can do that these days anyway.” He sighs and rubs his eyes, then adjusts his glasses on his nose.

“He was adamant that it was important,” Albus says, glancing at his dad. “He wouldn’t let us go without it.”

Harry shrugs. “Hopefully he knows something we don’t. We can ask him about it when he wakes up.”

“If he wakes up,” Albus murmurs, looking once again at all the red.

Harry reaches across and rubs his back. “He’ll wake up. He’s Scorpius Malfoy, spectacularly stubborn and astoundingly resilient. Just like you. You two suit each other.”

Albus looks down at his hands. “I suppose so.”

“Is Draco back yet?”

Albus shakes his head. “Not yet.“

“Then we’ll have to take care of Scorpius ourselves while he’s away,” Harry says, giving Albus’s shoulder a squeeze.

“I don’t know if I should be allowed to do that,” Albus murmurs.

Harry lets go of his shoulder and shuffled sideways, looking at him. “Are you okay, Albus?”

Albus shakes his head. “No. I’m not, I’m- I’m scared.”

“Of what?” Harry asks, eyeing him carefully.

Albus hangs his head and hunches his shoulders. “I’m scared that... That he won’t wake up. I’m scared that all this is my fault. I’m scared of what he’ll say when he does wake up. I’m scared that I’ve been making all the wrong decisions this whole time, and that it’s hurt us all for nothing... I’m- I’m scared of everything, Dad. I think I’ve really, colossally fucked up, even more than I thought I had, I-“ He swallows and stares down at the ground. “I’ve been really stupid,” he whispers.

“Why do you think this is your fault?” Harry asks, frowning. “Someone hurt Scorpius and it wasn’t you...” He takes a breath. “When I was in school, in my fifth year, Voldemort’s snake attacked your granddad, and I saw it happen in a dream. I thought that was my fault too, even though it wasn’t. I know this stuff is difficult, Albus, but you don’t have to blame yourself for everything.”

Albus shakes his head. “But this isn’t like a snake in a dream. This is real, Dad. Draco told me what happened to Scorpius after I left. If I hadn’t run away then he would have got what he was supposed to in school, he wouldn’t have ended up working for you; he’d be safe in the Department of Mysteries, just like he always wanted.”

“But you don’t know that he’d be safe if you’d stayed,” Harry says. “We make a lot of decisions in our lives, Albus. You leaving was a big one but it’s not an exact chain from there to now. Seven years happened in between.” He resettles himself in his chair. “In my job I have to make a lot of decisions and sometimes people get hurt. If I dwell on every single one of those missions that went wrong, worrying if it was my fault, I’d go crazy. I used to do it, but I had to learn not to. Maybe you need to learn the same lesson now.”

Albus sits up. “You’re not _listening_ to me,” he says, voice rising as he rakes his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Scorpius got stuck. I left, everyone thought he’d killed me or kidnapped me, or- You did nothing to correct them. You knew the truth but you let it happen. You didn’t even help him. You didn’t promote him, you didn’t encourage him, you let him languish doing the shit jobs that no one else wanted. And now this particular shit job has left him like this.”

He flings his arm out, gesturing to the unconscious shape of Scorpius in the bed. “This is my fault. My fault for running away. And I guess it’s also your fault. Your fault for lying and protecting yourself and not caring about him. But maybe it doesn’t matter that it’s your fault because you won’t lose any sleep over it, will you?”

He’s on his feet now, and he’s shouting. He knows he shouldn’t be, because Scorpius needs to rest and heal, but he can’t stop himself. He’s exhausted and angry and upset, and now it’s all coming out in a huge wash of emotion.

“Albus,” Harry says in a hushed voice, also getting to his feet. “That’s not true. Of course these things bother me, of course I lose sleep over them, but-“

“But not enough to change anything,” Albus shouts, voice breaking. Hot tears blur his vision and he wipes a hand furiously across his eyes. “Everyone thinks you’re this big hero: Harry Potter, the boy who lived. But you’re not. Not anymore. You grew up without them noticing, and now you’re just Harry Potter, the man who didn’t give a shit. Not about me, not about Scorpius.”

He sniffs and wipes his eyes again. “I know I made a mistake, Dad. I admit it. I know that- that Delphi has something to do with all this. I left to find myself and my future and I don’t think I found anything except questionable friends and a job that’s nearly killed me several times. I’m as lost as I was when I started. But at least I’ll admit that. You won’t even admit that you’re the reason I ran away. You won’t admit that... that Scorpius could live or die and you wouldn’t care a-as long as you didn’t have to look at yourself in the mirror.”

He gulps in a breath between the desperate sobs that have overwhelmed him and keeps going. “I really want to fix things, Dad. I want to make things better, not just with Scorpius a-and my life and everything, but with you too. But it’s impossible. It’ll keep being impossible until you admit that we’re here because of both of us. Scorpius is... is there because of both of us. And I can’t just come back and say sorry because that’s not enough to give him what he deserves... I need you to think about that. Please. Because I-I really don’t want to keep doing this.”

He looks down at Scorpius, who hasn’t moved an inch despite the commotion. His eyes are still closed, he’s still breathing softly and slowly. And despite whatever might be going on inside him, whether he’ll wake up and be the same as he was before or not, whether he’ll even wake up at all, he’s still the Scorpius that Albus promised Draco he would help love, appreciate, and protect.

He goes over and kneels down next to Scorpius, taking hold of his hand. “I’m going outside for a bit,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry for all the noise. I love you and I’ll be back.” Then he kisses the back of Scorpius’s hand, gets to his feet, and strides from the room.

There’s a garden somewhere on the ground floor. He knows because he used to go and hide there back when James was in for his Dragon Pox. It’s not the most exciting place in the world, but it’s away from other people and it’s outside. Right now there’s nothing on earth that sounds better than having cool morning air on his face.

He follows the signs through the long, empty hospital corridors until he reaches a curlicued gold metal gate. He nudges it gently open and steps out into the shadowy courtyard.

The sun is up. It rises so early during the summer that he’d be amazed if it wasn’t. The sky is tinged with pale pink and deep blue, and the flowers are slowly starting to open after their night’s sleep. Everything is studded with a haze of dew, and he brushes his fingers through some tall grasses, letting the water drip from his fingertips.

At the far end of the garden, down the winding paths and past the blooming banks of flowers, there’s a bench nestled beneath a rose arch. The bench is damp with dew just like everything else in the garden, but Albus sits on it anyway. A little bit of water is hardly the worst thing he’s had on him today.

Even in the heather grey morning light the rose arch is still a conflagration of bright pinks and yellows and peaches. Albus leans against the back of the bench and stares up at the unfurling petals above him. Maybe when Scorpius is better they can sit out here together. He knows that Scorpius likes roses, or at least he used to, they remind him of his mum.

Albus pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them, staring out at the garden. Of all the bad days of the last seven years, of all the bad days of his life, this has to be one of the worst. Scorpius in hospital, another fight with his dad... This is the worst of everything. He doesn’t even have anywhere to run to now. The league doesn’t really feel like a sanctuary when he knows that someone in it has just tried to murder his boyfriend.

He buries his face in his hands and draws in a deep lungful of fresh, sharp, sweet-scented morning air. Everything is still. Everything is silent. It’s a new day. A new day should mean a fresh start, a chance to do better. But Albus assumes he’s going to spend it trying to undo the mistakes he’s already made. It’s much harder to be positive about a new start when he’s carrying the weight of so much baggage with him.

It would be easier if he had Scorpius by his side. Scorpius has made all of this so much less painful. He’s smoothed the path for Albus so far. But Scorpius can’t help now, and all Albus can see ahead is an impassably rocky path leading to somewhere hidden from view.

He ruffles a hand through his messy hair. It’s got far too long over the past few days. He’s starting to look like his dad again, which would have felt like a disaster before, but now it’s just a mild inconvenience. At least Scorpius likes him this way. And he can’t help but think that he looks more like himself than he has in a long time. Secretly he doesn’t mind this. Having to remember to keep Sev’s hair short was a nightmare, so it’s almost easier to have it this way – long and unruly.

He rubs his eyes and curls up tighter, yawning, lulled by the comfort of being alone. But just as he’s bowing his head and his eyes are starting to drift properly closed for the first time all night, he heard a voice on the other side of the garden and he jerks awake.

“Albus?” Harry’s voice. “Albus where are you?” He’s not calling loudly – they’re in a square surrounded by rooms, many of which have open windows – but Albus can hear him.

He stays perfectly still, holding his breath, but of course it’s futile hiding from his dad. It’s only worked once in his life, and he had to disguise himself and completely disappear to do it. Disappearance here is not an option, and a second later Harry rounds a bend in the path and spots him.

“Albus, you _are_ out here.”

Albus nods and ducks his head. “I guess I am.”

Harry looks around as he walks up the path. “I forgot how nice this garden is.”

“But you didn’t forget that I like to sit out here,” Albus murmurs.

Harry shakes his head. “No. I didn’t. Some things never change.” He walks up to Albus and gestures to the bench next to him. “Can I sit?”

Albus shuffles right over into the corner of the bench and nods.

“Thanks,” Harry says softly, sitting beside him.

Albus picks at his shoe for a second, then glances at his dad. “Do you remember how I found this place?”

Harry nods. “When James was sick. You’d get bored of sitting with him and want to go exploring. You must have spent hours out here.”

“Better than being in that stuffy room,” Albus murmurs. “Anything was better than that... I really hate hospitals.”

“I don’t think anyone’s a real fan of them,” Harry says.

“No,” Albus agrees, remembering how Draco had looked earlier when they were allowed in to see Scorpius. He’d stood in the doorway surveying the room for a moment before giving a resigned sigh and going over to sit beside Scorpius.

There’s a momentary pause, then Harry takes a breath.

“Albus, I wanted to come and talk to you. About Scorpius.”

Albus looks at him uncertainly. He doesn’t know where this is going. “Okay,” he says.

Harry adjusts the cuffs of his shirt, and shifts closer to Albus on the bench. “Everything you said in Scorpius’s room just now, it’s valid. I admit that. I haven’t exactly done the best job of dealing with everything that’s happened, and I know that Scorpius has suffered because of that. Scorpius is too nice to complain about it himself, but Draco’s always vocal, and you’ve certainly made your opinion heard. So I really just wanted to reassure you that I’m not being complacent anymore.”

“Right...” Albus says, twisting round to look at him, curious about where this is going.

Harry holds up a hand. “I haven’t got far,” he says quickly. “I can do magic but I can’t work miracles. Things have moved so fast that it’s been difficult to keep up, but anyway.” He pushes his glasses up his nose. “I’ve been talking to the Prophet about an interview or something, you know, to set the record straight. Maybe you and me, or just me, talking about everything that happened and you being back. I don’t know if people even really know that you’re back yet. I think making that clear and telling people everything would help. So... so that’s the first thing.” He pauses and looks to Albus for approval, but Albus doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t know what’s coming next or anything, so he just nods for his dad to go on.

“Second thing,” Harry says, ticking them off on his fingers. “And you don’t have to agree to this one. But I think it would be nice to do something to mark you coming home. But it wouldn’t just be that. It would be a sort of apology too. It would be to thank Scorpius for helping to find you. He’d be the guest of honour, and... well, it’s a work in progress.”

“Is there a third thing?” Albus asks, to put off having to react for a little bit longer.

Harry nods and rubs his hands together. “There is.” Albus can tell that this is the part he’s worked hardest on and is most nervous about. There’s a look in his eyes, and the false confidence of the way he’s holding his hands is hopelessly transparent.

“I’ve been talking to people in my department, and in, um, in other departments too, about where Scorpius might go when he’s recovered. You know, where there might be a job for him... That doesn’t mean I’m firing him,” he adds hurriedly, apparently seeing Albus’s look of horror. “His current job is still there. But I’m looking for a promotion for him. Somewhere with responsibility, where he can learn new things and develop a career. I haven’t talked to many people yet but I’m working on it. I’m hoping that someone in the Department of Mysteries might be interested – that’s where he wanted to be, right?” He trails off, looking anxiously at Albus, but now Albus really is speechless.

He stares at his dad in amazement, open mouthed and struggling to find the words. Finally he swallows and manages to form a full sentence.

“Are you serious?”

Harry nods, looking uncertain. “Yes, I... I’m serious. About all of it. Why? Do you think it’s okay?”

“Of course it’s okay,” Albus says. “I mean you should have done it all years ago, but... Does Scorpius know you’re looking for a new job for him?”

“It’s not just a new job,” Harry says. “I want him to have options – different offers to choose from – but no. I haven’t mentioned it.”

“You should tell Draco at least,” Albus says, uncurling himself. “He’d be pleased. I mean he might snark at you but he would be happy underneath.”

“First I need the offers,” Harry says. “I can’t make people help. It might take a few favours. But that’s why the other things are important. If we can change people’s perceptions then they’ll be easier to persuade, don’t you think?”

“So we do an interview together,” Albus says. “I don’t think Scorpius would like a big party. I mean maybe he would, but I don’t think he ever wants to be the centre of attention. You’d have to ask him. You never know, he might love it.” He gives a little shrug.

“You’ll do the interview then?” Harry asks, expression brightening as the sun climbs higher in the sky above them and the shadows recede from the garden.

Albus considers that for a moment before nodding. “Yes, I think I will. I don’t really think my way of clearing Scorpius’s name worked. Everyone thinks the guy on the steps was delusional. So it needs doing. Properly. And I like the job thing too, but I do think you should tell him. He probably knows exactly where he wants to work; what he wants to study. If you don’t want to ask him maybe I could...”

Harry smiles. “Yeah, alright. We can work together on this.”

Albus nods. “We can... And I’m sorry for shouting at you. Again.”

Harry waves a hand. “It happens. And I think I deserved it. I always deserve it.”

“Most of the time,” Albus agrees, shooting him a tiny grin.

There’s a beat of silence in which Albus twists round on the bench so he can lean against his dad, then Harry turns to look at him.

“Your mum said you’re coming for dinner on Sunday.”

“Is that alright?” Albus asks.

“Of course it is!” Harry says enthusiastically. “Definitely. I was wondering if you might want to come early and help cook. It’d be nice to have an extra competent pair of hands. You’re not racing or anything that day, are you?”

Albus shakes his head. “I’m not, just the night before. I think I could manage to come early.” He nudges his dad gently on the arm. “You can give me an update on your Scorpius Solutions.”

“Is that what we’re calling them?” Harry asks, grinning.

“Unless you can think of a better name,” Albus says. He relaxes against his dad’s side with a sigh. “We just have to hope he gets better so we can use them.”

Harry wraps an arm round his shoulder and gives him a squeeze. “Me too. For you and for Draco.”

“We need him,” Albus murmurs. “I need him. He helps me feel like maybe I can be a proper part of all this again one day. You know, like I can be part of this family, and his, and like I can have a proper life and a future, and...” He swallows and rests his head on his dad’s shoulder. “It’s harder to believe that without him here.”

Harry glances down at him. “It might be harder to believe but it’s still true.” He kisses the top of Albus’s head and hugs him tighter. “And you’re already a part of the family. You never stopped.”

Albus nods and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t want to tell his dad that he still doesn’t think he deserves to be part of the family, that’ll probably just cause another argument. So instead he sits in silence and tries to let himself dream of belonging.

“Your mum told me about this,” his dad says after a little while, lightly brushing his little finger over the scars on Albus’s left arm. “You could let someone look at them while we’re here.”

Albus pulls his arm away and starts quickly rolling his sleeves down to cover the scars. He buttons his cuffs and sits up. “We should probably go back inside,” he says. “I want to see if anything’s changed.”

Harry nods and gets to his feet. His expression has clouded over a bit, and Albus sits and looks at him for a moment before sighing.

“My arms are okay, Dad. I promise. I can live with them. Maybe one day I’ll let someone have a look at them, but not today.”

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” Harry says.

Albus gives him a tight little smile. “My arms are the least of my worries. There’s other stuff that hurts me a lot more.” He gets to his feet and brushes the water of himself, then he pauses and looks at his dad again. His expression is still cloudy grey with the threat of rain, and Albus takes a step towards him.

“Dad?” He murmurs. “I promise I’m okay- Or, no I suppose I’m not, but I will be. And it’s not your fault, so...” He hesitates then cautiously holds his hands out, gripping the cuffs of his sleeves, and steps across to hug his dad. Harry also hesitates, but then he wraps an arm round Albus’s back, runs his other hand through Albus’s hair, and holds him.

When they pull apart Albus gives his dad a small shy smile and nudges him on the arm. “Thanks. Do you want to get coffee before we go upstairs?”

Harry runs a hand through his hair and returns the smile. “You still have your coffee obsession, then?”

Albus shrugs and starts walking back down the path between the flowerbeds. “It’s the only way I’m getting through today.”

Albus knows he’s only delaying the inevitable, but he does feel considerably brighter after just the first sip of coffee. They get the drinks to go, eager to get back to the room, and Albus sips his as they walk down the corridor. Not for the first time when they’ve been alone together they don’t talk, but today it doesn’t feel awkward or strained, it just feels like they’re content in each other’s company, and Albus is quite happy with that.

Albus is first to reach the room and he nudges the door quietly open and leads the way inside. He expects everything to be silent and dark but it’s not. A soft golden light is shining through the room and as well as Draco there are a couple of Healers. There’s also Scorpius, who is half sitting up, propped on his pillows, eyes almost open, looking a wreck but definitely awake.

Albus nearly drops his coffee on the floor. He just manages to keep his grip on it and shove it onto a nearby table as he rushes to Scorpius’s side, nudging his way in beside Draco.

“Scorpius,” he gasps. “You’re awake.”

Scorpius blinks groggily at him. “Albus,” he says in a hoarse whisper. “Hi.” He reaches out a hand to Albus, and Albus takes it and clings to it.

“Hi,” Albus whispers back, blinking hard to fight back a rising flood of tears. He squeezes Scorpius’s hand tight and looks up at the Healers in an effort to keep himself from breaking down. “A-am I okay here?” He asks. “Do you need me to move, or...?”

One of the Healers nods at him. “You’re alright for now.”

“Okay,” Albus murmurs. He looks at Draco next. “How long has he been awake?”

“A couple of minutes,” Draco says, patting Scorpius’s blankets into place. “I was wondering if I should come and find you. Scorpius was concerned that you weren’t here.”

Scorpius gives Albus a tiny, weak smile. “I-I thought... Thought you might have disowned me when... when I didn’t come for the date.”

Albus sniffs and shakes his head. “Don’t be stupid. Why would I disown you for that? Anyway, I know you’re never late so I went and got your dad and we found you.”

Scorpius’s eyes flutter closed and he inhales a soft, steady breath. Even though he looks awful he’s clearly much better than he was earlier. “You found me,” he whispers. “I remember that. I-I heard someone coming and I thought it was...” His face screws up. “I thought... I-I don’t know. I thought it was someone bad. But... but it was you. You and Dad. I hoped you’d find me.”

Albus glances at Draco, wanting to acknowledge that Scorpius has recognised their team work, but Draco isn’t looking at him. Instead he’s frowning at Scorpius.

“Do you remember who you thought might be coming back?” Draco asks, smoothing a wrinkle out of Scorpius’s blanket.

Scorpius squeezes his eyes tight shut, face wrinkling as he strains to remember. “I-I should. I know I should. But I... I don’t. Not a face or... or a name, or... I-I don’t even remember what happened.” He opens his eyes and looks at the Healers. “It’s bad that I don’t remember,” he says. “Isn’t it?”

Albus glances at one of the Healers, who’s paused in the midst of casting spells.

“You’ve taken some significant spell damage,” she says. “We still need to work out what those spells were. It’s not completely clear, but it’s not unexpected for you to be having some trouble remembering what happened.” She flashes Scorpius a reassuring smile. “The good thing for now is that you seem to have most of your memories from outside the incident.”

Scorpius nods. “I-I know who I am, and... everything.”

“But if he doesn’t know what happened,” Harry says from the corner of the room where he’s standing, “how are we supposed to know who attacked him?”

“I’m sorry,” Scorpius whispers, looking at Harry. “I can try and remember. Maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough to-“

“No,” Draco says in a fierce voice that makes Albus flinch away from him and Scorpius stare wide-eyed in fear. “No,” Draco says much more softly. “You don’t need to worry about that. You’re alive, you’re awake. Those are the only things I care about. We can deal with who did this later.” He turns and glares over his shoulder at Harry. “Can’t we?”

Harry holds his hands up in apology and surrender, and nods. “We can.”

“Good,” Draco says. He leans across and kisses Scorpius on the forehead. “All you need to do now is rest. Rest and heal. Okay?”

Scorpius closes his eyes and gives the tiniest twitch of his head as a nod. “Okay.” He rolls his head to the side, and for a moment Albus thinks he’s fallen asleep, but then his eyes open a crack and reaches his hand out and brushes a finger down Albus’s cheek. “I need to get better soon. I... I owe you a date.”

Albus smiles and catches hold of Scorpius’s hand so he can kiss it. “It looked like a really nice restaurant,” he says. “It would be beautiful on a summer evening. You can have a glass of wine and sit outside in the garden. We could spend hours out there talking.”

Scorpius settles himself into the pillows and his eyes close again. “What would we talk about?” He asks in a croaky, exhausted voice.

Albus squeezes his hand. “Everything. The past, the future. We could talk about racing, if you want, or you could tell me about history or-or whatever magic you’re reading about at the moment, or...”

Scorpius swallows. “I saw a broom in Diagon Alley,” he says, voice creaking; it sounds painfully dry. “I thought of you. It looked fast. Fast enough for you.”

“You’ll have to take me to see it,” Albus murmurs. “Do you want some water? Your voice sounds-“

“It’s fine,” Scorpius rasps. “I don’t think I’ll be awake much longer anyway.” He gives Albus’s hand a weak squeeze and shifts about. Albus tries to help him get comfortable but doesn’t know if he’s done a good job. Scorpius seems happy enough though, and he nods. “Better... Now will you talk me to sleep?”

“Am I that interesting?” Albus asks, and Scorpius’s lips quirk up at the sides. Albus can tell that he’d be rolling his eyes if they were open.

“Your voice is soothing,” Scorpius says.

“Don’t worry,” Albus says. “I’m not offended. Let me find something really boring to talk about... Hmm. How about potion making in the 1700s?”

“That actually sounds really interesting,” Scorpius murmurs. “Go on.”

So Albus starts talking. He doesn’t remember everything about the subject – they’d studied it just before he’d left Hogwarts – but he always found it fascinating, and a lot of it comes back as he talks.

He can feel Scorpius’s grip on his hand slackening, and Scorpius’s arm becoming a dead weight, and finally Scorpius’s breathing slows and calms, and it’s quite clear that he’s asleep. At that point Albus lets go of his hand and reels back, hit by a sudden wave of emotion. He collapses back from his knees onto his backside and buries his face in his hands as he starts to cry again. Both Draco and his dad rush to his side, but he brushes them away and struggles to his feet, wiping his eyes.

“No... no. I’m fine,” he sniffs. “I’m okay. I-I’m just happy he’s alright, and...” He looks at the Healers. “He is alright, isn’t he?”

The Healer who hasn’t spoken yet stops the spell he’s casting and tucks his wand away. “The wounds are looking much better now,” he says. “There will probably be a little bit of scarring but no real lasting damage. And I’ve just been looking at the spell damage to his brain. As far as I can tell it’s caused by the effects of a couple of different spells, cast multiple times.”

“Which ones?” Draco asks sharply. He’s on his feet too now, and he’s gripping Albus’s shoulder. Albus wishes his dad were closer so he could hold onto someone too.

“The Cruciatus Curse,” the Healer says, and Draco’s grip tightens to the point that it’s uncomfortable, digging hard enough into Albus’s shoulder to bruise. “And it looks like he’s been Obliviated too, twice in quick succession.”

“Does that mean...?” Harry asks, trailing off.

Draco looks round at him. “Does that mean what? Potter, what are you on about?”

Albus looks round too, to see his dad looking fixedly at the Healer and ignoring Draco.

“It means,” the Healer says steadily, “that there’s a very good chance that he’ll never regain his full memory of the attack. He might not even remember any of it. The spells are so close together that even if we managed to reverse one or even both, the memories would be so badly damaged that it might not help. And given that his memory otherwise seems to be excellent, I’d suggest that it wouldn’t be in his best interests to attempt something that’s unlikely to help and might even make things worse.”

“So we’ll never know who did this, then?” Harry asks, gesturing to Scorpius. “He’ll never be able to tell us?”

The Healer waves his hands in an uncertain sort of way. “We can’t say never. Sometimes things come back to people, sometimes these spells don’t do the damage we expect, perhaps he will remember with enough time and rest, but I’d say it’s unlikely. What is likely is that flashes of what happened to him will come back, but we normally find that these flashes are more confusing for patients than helpful. I’m sorry.”

Draco turns to look at Harry, his expression hard. “We’ll have to find out what happened another way then. I’m not putting Scorpius’s memory in any more danger... That book. Scorpius knew it was important but not why. The book has to be the key.”

Harry sighs and scratches his forehead. “We’ve tried to get into the book but it’s blank. It just looks like an unused journal.”

“So did Riddle’s diary,” Draco says. “Am I correct?”

Harry shrugs. “Yes, but-“

“You’re Harry Potter,” Draco says. “Work your magic. If you can’t work it out no one can.”

“And you’re an expert on dark artefacts,” Harry counters. “Maybe we should have a look at it together.”

Draco narrows his eyes, considering. “You might have a point.”

Albus shuffles his feet and looks between the two of them. “If either of you can find out who hurt Scorpius... I’d appreciate it. I-I really need to know who it was.”

If Scorpius can’t remember and they never get any answers, then the dread inside Albus will never go away. He needs to be sure. He needs to know with one hundred percent certainty that he hasn’t spent the past seven years making the most terrible mistake. Because at the moment all he knows is that Scorpius was found injured in Delphi’s room, and that’s not a great start.

Draco nods. “We will find out,” he says. “We’ll find a way. Between the lot of us we have to, right Potter?”

Harry looks at Albus, and Albus looks away from him, afraid that his dad can read his thoughts and suspicions and worries. Delphi is his best friend, he shouldn’t be worried about her being behind all this. But he is. He can’t help himself. If he asked her she might clear up his doubt in a heartbeat, but until he works up the courage for that he’s stuck with doubts that he’d really rather not have.

“Don’t worry, Albus,” Harry says. “We’ll get to the bottom of this somehow, with Scorpius’s memory or without it.”

Albus doesn’t want to leave the hospital but he’s too exhausted not to, and when Draco realises that he’s gradually falling asleep in the chair by Scorpius’s bed, he insists that Albus go home and rest.

Getting home isn’t easy; Albus nearly Splinches himself because he can’t stay focused on where he’s going for long enough. But eventually he arrives in one piece at his own front door, and when he gets inside he collapses onto his sofa and falls fast asleep right there.

It’s dark outside when he wakes up, and there’s a light summer rain pattering on the window panes. His neck aches, and he sits up, rubbing it and grimacing with discomfort. Hunger gnaws at his stomach, and he goes and heats up some soup, which he guzzles down in one go, accompanied by some bread. With his hunger abated, he goes and sits in his bedroom window, staring out at the city below and the rolling hills in the distance. It’s there that everything comes flooding back.

Scorpius’s memory is damaged so he might never know who attacked him. They found him in Delphi’s room though, a room that Albus guesses only she has access to; if he didn’t know that was where she was staying then he doubts anyone else did either. At the race the other day Scorpius thought Delphi was following him. Someone from the league has been trying to hurt him ever since Albus found him again.

And then there’s the rest of the picture: Delphi’s Death Eater friends, Delphi’s secrets, Delphi’s plans. It all comes together to form a tapestry that points to the one thing Albus can’t contemplate – that the woman who’s been his best friend for years, who he’s given his love and trust to, is not the person he thought she was, and that Albus has made the worst mistake of his life.

There’s only one thing to do with a night like this, and with feelings like this. He shoves the window open, grabs the nearest broomstick, and flies out into the darkness.

A light breeze brushes down the city streets and ruffles the dry grass of the moors beyond. The rain is getting heavier by the moment, drenching Albus and hammering down on the parched earth, kicking up dust. The evening is still warm, but the breeze and rain are cooling it down, and thunder rumbles ominously in the distance.

It doesn’t take Albus long to fly to the gorge. Beneath him the ground becomes rockier, the hills swelling, and through the rain and darkness he can see the long scar carving across the landscape. He sweeps down and lands at the top of the cliffs, hopping off onto the grass and staring into the ravine.

It’s bigger than he remembers. The rocks are more jagged, and the gouge in the ground runs far deeper. The road twists in sharper, more extreme bends. After a year away it looks intimidating, and as he follows the zig zags of the road away into the distance, he can’t help but wonder how he ever flew down here. It seems catastrophically stupid. He’s afraid, and with a jolt he realises that he doesn’t want to do this.

Maybe he’s got cautious in his time away. Maybe he’s forgotten how to be brave. He shouldn’t be scared of this. There’s not even any Fiendfyre involved. It’s a gorge that he’s flown down thousands of times before. And yet...

He sits down in the wet grass, setting his broom next to him. His hair is plastered flat to his head, water dripping in his eyes. He wipes it away and stares down at the knees of his sodden trousers, trying to work out why he feels like this.

Every time he’s come here before he’s been able to just get on his broom and fly. On a miserable, rainy night when he’s feeling down, this sort of flying is what he needs. It feels good to stop caring, to let go of everything and hurl himself down the rocky path with reckless abandon, fuck the consequences. But tonight, even though he feels awful, the thought of doing that makes him feel worse.

He hugs his knees and stares blankly out across the rainwashed hills. The image of Scorpius, curled up in his hospital bed, too exhausted to keep his eyes open, flickers through Albus’s mind. He’d promised Scorpius he wouldn’t disappear again. He’d promised Scorpius that he wouldn’t leave. He can’t go back on that now, not after everything, and if he did go careening down here and lose control that would be the worst sort of abandonment. There’s no coming back from death.

In a flash it comes to him. He has something to live for now. He has people who he knows care about him, not just Scorpius but his mum and dad, his siblings, maybe even Draco. He cares about them in return too. That’s the difference. That’s what’s changed. It’s not that he’s become afraid, it’s that he’s found the thing he’s been missing all along, the thing to tie him down and make him cautious. He’s found something to lose.

Every other time he’s been here he’s felt entirely alone and abandoned. It wouldn’t have made a difference to him or anyone else if he’d died. But now it does. He doesn’t want to leave Scorpius like that; he can’t imagine what it would do to his mum and dad to have him back and then lose him again. As much as he’s having a bad night and just wants to forget the world and fly in a mad rush of adrenaline, he can’t forget everything. He can’t forget his family.

He curls up smaller, bowing his head as the realisation hits. This means that he matters. This means that he’s not alone. This means that his life means more than just his ability to fly faster and harder than anyone else. There’s actually a point to him being here. He doesn’t really know what that point is, but it would make a difference to at least a few people if he weren’t here, and it’s been a long time since he could say that.

None of this helps with his Delphi problem, of course. It doesn’t make it better, it doesn’t help him forget it, in fact it makes it worse. It makes everything so much worse. He abandoned everyone who cares about him for her. He wasted seven years of his life being lonely and lost for her. And now he discovers that she might not be everything he thought she was, that he might have misjudged.

Speculation is pointless, he knows that. He should talk to her or wait for his dad and Draco to examine Scorpius’s book. But he can’t help but hold that slither of doubt in his mind. It’s impossible to chase away now it’s there, sown like a seed, slowly putting down roots and beginning to grow. There’s enough there to leave him feeling foolish and betrayed. If he’d made better choices from the start then maybe he would never have flown recklessly down this gorge. Maybe he would never have put himself in danger. Maybe he’d have always had something to lose.

He flops his legs out into the grass in front of him and rolls his broom towards him. Now the rain has soaked him to the skin he’s freezing cold and starting to shiver. His nose is beginning to run, and he wipes it, swiping away the water. It’s late and the light breeze is whipping up into something stronger. He needs to go home, he needs to rest, and tomorrow he needs to go and see Scorpius again. Those are his priorities now, not races or suicidal flights down the gorge or anything else. It’s all about Scorpius.

The broom rises off the ground beneath his hand, like it’s ready to go home. He doesn’t bother to argue with it. He gets to his feet and throws one last look at the snaking line of the gorge, then he mounts his broom, kicks off the ground, and starts flying back towards Bristol.

The next morning, Albus wakes up drenched in sunlight but still soggy from his exploits in the rain. He rolls out of bed with a groan and starts peeling off his damp clothes, then he drags himself to the bathroom to shower. When he gets there he dumps his fresh clothes on the ground and stares at himself in the mirror.

Albus’s face – green eyes, messy black hair, his dad’s sharp nose – stares back. Beneath is the body he’s spent seven years working on, all compact strength. It’s marred only by the scars, which today are a calm, pale pink, and the long black spirals of the tattoos. There’s his ear too, which this morning just has a simple silver stud sparkling from the lobe.

He runs a hand through his hair and twists from side to side, trying to decide who he looks more like this morning, Albus or Sev. As he does he spots the black mark on his shoulder, and he strains his body so he can see it properly. Delphi’s wings are stark against his skin, and he trails a finger over the tattoo, his heart sinking. As long as he has that he’s tied to her, or at least his past is. As long as he has that he can’t escape Sev, no matter who he wants to be.

He lies his palm flat over the black wings, hiding them from view, and looks at himself again. Albus stares back, Albus with the scars and physique of a broom racer, Albus with Sev’s history and an uncertain future. He closes his eyes so he can’t see himself anymore and turns away to get into the shower.

It’s a cool day, thanks to the rain, so Albus arrives at the hospital wearing his favourite green hoodie and jeans. He nudges the door to Scorpius’s room open with his hip and discovers that Scorpius is alone in there, and that he’s awake.

“You look like you’re fourteen again,” Scorpius says, shooting him a grin that sparkles with mischief.

“Someone’s feeling better,” Albus replies, going over and holding his arms out for a hug, not entirely sure if hugging is allowed.

Scorpius shuffles into a better position and pats Albus carefully on the back, then kisses him for good measure. Albus brushes his fingers through Scorpius’s hair and smiles at him.

“It’s nice to see you awake.”

“They promised me food,” Scorpius says. “And Dad’s gone to get tea. He might get you a coffee if you run after him. He only left a minute ago.”

Albus shakes his head and flops into the chair by Scorpius’s bed. “No, I’m not in the mood for running today. I had a late night last night.”

“Doing what?” Scorpius asks, curling up on his side so he can look at Albus.

“I flew to the top of a gorge and sat in the rain,” Albus says.

Scorpius narrows his eyes at him. “Why?”

“I was going to fly down it,” Albus says. “But when I got there I realised that would be stupid, and that you and Mum and Dad would probably miss me if I ended up smashed into small squishy pieces on the rocks.”

Scorpius blinks several times. “Right,” he says slowly. “That wasn’t the answer I was expecting...” He reaches out and puts a hand on Albus’s arm. “Are you okay, Albus?”

Albus looks at him and nods. “Yes, I am. I promise. It just wasn’t a great night. But I... I realised that there’s a point to me being here now. I don’t know what it is, but... there is one.”

Scorpius frowns. “Of course there’s a point to you being here, Albus. And yes. We would miss you. We missed you when you left last time.” He squeezes Albus’s arm, and brushes his thumb against Albus’s skin. “How long have you been thinking that there was no point to you?”

Albus looks down and tracks the progress of Scorpius’s thumb, giving a small shrug. “I don’t know,” he murmurs. “A while.” He looks up. “But it’s not a problem anymore. I promise. I told you I wouldn’t leave you again and I won’t.”

“Good,” Scorpius says softly. “Because I would miss you.”

Albus nods. “I’d miss you too.” He bows his head and lets silence stretch out between them for a moment, then he looks up at Scorpius. “I used to fly down that gorge a lot. It was sort of a training thing, I suppose. But I liked the adrenaline rush, and I liked not thinking or caring. I didn’t expect that anything would have changed. But then when I got there... I couldn’t make myself do it. I couldn’t fly down there, just in case something happened. And I think I realised how everyone I race against feels.”

He picks at the edge of Scorpius’s blanket, staring down at the woven strands of wool. “Everyone else always had something tying them down, something to lose if they pushed too hard or lost control or whatever. But I never did. Not until last night... And I think I like it. If I had to pick anyone or anything to tie me down, it would definitely be you.” He looks up at Scorpius. “I know I ran away, but... I never wanted to be lost. I never wanted to not fit. And now I have you and I don’t think I am anymore. Not like I was, anyway.”

“Being lost doesn’t feel good,” Scorpius murmurs. “I, um. I don’t remember much about what happened to me the other day, but I remember that. I remember lying there and knowing that no one could see me or hear me, that I couldn’t move, and that everything hurt. I remember thinking that surely no one would ever find me. I-I did feel lost. I mean I hoped that you and Dad would somehow find me, but... I wasn’t sure.” He looks at Albus and his eyes are sad and dull, some of the spark gone from them. “I’m sorry you had to feel like that. I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

Albus shakes his head. “No, you did. You...” He sighs. “I don’t think I realised that you were what I needed. I was so busy trying to find where I belonged that I didn’t realise I... I sort of already did.”

“You shouldn’t regret it,” Scorpius says softly. “Running away. Don’t do that. It happened, and it changed you, in a lot of ways for the better I think. If you hadn’t done it you wouldn’t be you.”

“But what about-“

“Me?” Scorpius asks. He shrugs. “I wouldn’t be who I am either.”

“But-“

Scorpius looks him dead in the eye. “I’m serious. Please don’t regret it. It’ll...” He licks his dry lips and smooths a hand over his blankets. “It’ll make everything harder.”

“Fine,” Albus murmurs, bowing his head. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” Scorpius says. He shifts on the bed, struggling to sit up more, and Albus tries to help prop the pillows up to support him. “When’s my dad going to be back?” He asks. “I really want that tea...”

“I can go and look for him if you want,” Albus offers, already half on his feet, but Scorpius shakes his head.

“No, this place is a maze and he likes to wander. You’ll never find him.”

“Alright,” Albus says, settling back down.

There’s a stretch of silence after that, then Scorpius glances at Albus, his expression guarded in a way that makes Albus nervous about what he’s about to say.

“Go on,” Albus prompts. “What is it?”

Scorpius licks his lips again, then draws in a breath. “I... I have actually started to remember a few things about what happened, you know.”

Albus blinks at him. “You have?”

Scorpius nods. “I have. Not much, but little flashes...”

Albus shuffles his chair closer to Scorpius’s bed and nods eagerly. “Go on.”

Scorpius twists his hands together. “I remember talking to a barman downstairs. I think he was flirting with me, and he gave me a drink, he called it a Love Potion. Then it gets a bit blurry... but I know I went upstairs and got into a room, and I found the book...” He looks up at Albus. “You got the book, didn’t you?”

Albus nods. “Dad and Draco are looking at it.”

Scorpius exhales. “Good. That’s good. Anyway, I read it, and I found something, I don’t even know what I found but I know it was important. And then everything goes blank... Someone came, and next thing I remember is lying on the floor knowing I needed help because everything hurt. And then you and Dad were there...”

“Is that everything you remember?” Albus asks. “You definitely don’t remember who came to the room?”

Scorpius shakes his head, screwing his face up as he strains to remember. “I definitely don’t. No.”

“Alright,” Albus say thoughtfully. “What about the barman? What about the drink? Do you know what was in it?”

“Pearl Dust,” Scorpius says confidently. “I remember Pearl Dust, and...” He trails off, rubbing his forehead. “Just Pearl Dust. Then nothing but the stairs and... and the room.” He lifts his head and looks at Albus. “What if there was something in the drink? I remember asking the barman about that, but I don’t remember what he said, and... What if that had something to do with it?”

Albus shrugs. “You never know. Maybe we should tell the Healers just in case.” His heart races with hope. “Maybe we should tell my dad too.”

Scorpius digs the heels of his hands into his forehead and scrunches his face up. “I can’t remember... The person who was in the room... Not their voice, o-or their face, or-“ He hisses and bows his head. “Come on,” he mutters, “I need to remember. I-I need to-“

“Scorpius,” Albus says gently, rubbing a hand down his arm, “don’t hurt yourself. Please. I know you want to remember, but...”

Scorpius shakes his head. “I know it’s in there. I know I-“ His expression shifts like a thought has just struck him, and for a second Albus thinks he’s remembered something, but then he lifts his head and looks at Albus. “Where’s my wand?”

Albus hesitates. “Why do you want that?”

“Where is it?” Scorpius repeats. “I want it.” He sits up, wrapping an arm across his stomach and wincing as he twists around. He pats the bedside table, hand fumbling over the top, but he can’t quite reach the second shelf down, and that’s where Albus knows his wand is hiding.

“Scorpius,” he says, going round the bed. “I don’t know if you should-“

“Got it,” Scorpius says, lifting his hand to show the curved, scarred wood of his wand. “I want to remember, Albus. I need to. So I’m going to.” He turns his wand and presses the tip to his temple.

“This is a really really bad idea,” Albus says, standing at the foot of the bed, not sure what to do. He can’t dive across and grab Scorpius’s wand, Scorpius is injured, and he doesn’t want to have to fight him. “When you were unconscious the Healers said it wasn’t worth the risk. You were Obliviated twice, Scorpius. Even if you can undo one the other would still be there. It’s impossible.”

Scorpius gives him a fierce look. “Don’t _you_ want to know who did it?”

“Of course,” Albus says, “but not if it’s going to risk your health.”

Scorpius’s expression hardens into a glare. “I’ve been torn apart, my head hurts, my memory’s gone. There’s not much health to risk.”

“You know who you are though,” Albus says. “You know about me and your dad. The only thing you don’t remember is-“

“The most important thing.” Scorpius adjusts his grip on the handle of his wand and draws in a deep breath that Albus recognises as him preparing to cast a spell. Albus has only a split-second to react, and he does it without thinking.

“Expelliarmus,” he cries, pointing his wand straight at Scorpius.

Scorpius’s wand flies straight up out of his hand, ricochets off the ceiling, and Albus manages to snatch it out of the air.

“What are you doing?” Scorpius asks, voice high-pitched and more than a little bit hysterical.

“Stopping you from hurting yourself,” Albus replies, trying to keep his tone calm but finding it impossible. He can’t control himself. Everything has to turn into an argument, but he’s never argued with Scorpius before.

Scorpius screws his face up in pain as he leans forward away from his pillows and starts trying to swing his feet round onto the floor. “I want to remember,” he says through gritted teeth. “Give me my wand back. It’s mine.”

“I can’t,” Albus says, backing away. “Get back into bed or I’ll have to call someone for help.”

“It’s my mind,” Scorpius says. He gets his feet onto the floor and closes his hand around the metal bedhead. “My mind, my memories, my wand. I want them back.”

“I know you do, but... but you can’t.” Albus holds Scorpius’s wand behind his back and his own out in front of him. “Please don’t get up, you’ll hurt yourself. I’m supposed to be the stupid one, Scorpius. This isn’t sensible.”

“I don’t want to be sensible,” Scorpius says, clawing his way upright. “I want to know who hurt me, I-“ He pauses, swaying on his feet as his knees nearly give way beneath him. “I want to remember.” With a final effort he pushes himself forward away from the bed, still hunched over and holding his stomach, still swaying, almost on the verge of falling.

Albus can’t stand there and watch. He pockets both the wands and rushes over to Scorpius, holding him by the arm, and not a moment too soon. Scorpius’s legs give out, and he crumples. Albus just about manages to support him as he goes down, stopping him from hurting himself, and crouches on the ground next to him, still holding onto him.

“Why did you try and get up?” He asks. “Scorpius...”

“I want to know what happened,” he says, making a futile snatch at the wands in Albus’s pocket. “I... I hate not remembering. I hate it.”

“I know,” Albus says. “I know, but this isn’t the way.” He catches hold of Scorpius’s hand and holds it tight, and thankfully Scorpius stops fighting and grips Albus’s hand in return.

“When you found me,” he murmurs, looking at Albus. “When you found me I-I’d been there for hours. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t talk, everything hurt. I didn’t know why I was there or what was wrong. I-I just knew that there was pain and blood, and that I’d...” He sucks in a breath and shifts around like he’s trying to get comfortable. Albus wraps an arm round his back so he doesn’t have to support himself.

“Confused,” Scorpius goes on. “Lost. Hurt. Humiliated. I don’t understand what happened or why. I just want an answer.”

Albus hugs him and kisses his cheek. He nods and rests his head gently against Scorpius’s. “Me too,” he whispers. “Even if the answer scares me I still want to know. I want to know who I can trust.”

“Won’t you let me even try?” Scorpius asks, gesturing to the wands. “We both want this. We can get our answer.”

Albus shakes his head. “I can’t, Scorpius.”

Scorpius deflates. “It’s right here,” he says, tapping himself on the head. “I know it’s in here somewhere. I want to find it. It’s so frustrating.” He clenches his fingers in his hair and gives a small growl, then he flops his forehead onto Albus’s shoulder and dissolves into tears while Albus holds him.

They’re still there a couple of minutes later when the door opens and Draco comes in.

“I brought the tea- What are you two doing on the floor?”

“We were just getting up,” Albus says, gently looping his arm under Scorpius’s arms. “Come on, lean on me sweetheart.” Scorpius lets Albus help him up off the floor, and together they manage to get Scorpius sitting back in bed.

“And how did Scorpius end up down there?” Draco asks, eyes burning into Albus.

Albus opens his mouth to answer, not really knowing what to say. He doesn’t want to incriminate Scorpius, but he also doesn’t particularly want to lie to Draco. In the end he pulls Scorpius’s wand from his pocket and presents it to Draco.

“This needs looking after,” he says.

“Looking after?” Draco takes the wand, frowning down at it, then he glances at Scorpius. “What does that mean?”

“You should try it,” Scorpius mutters. “Not remembering. It’s awful.”

Draco stares at him. “Did you-“

“He wanted to try and get his memories back,” Albus says. “He was going to...” He waves a hand vaguely around his head. “So I Disarmed him.”

“Scorpius,” Draco murmurs.

Scorpius wipes his nose on the back of his hand. “Can I have my tea?”

“I think we should talk about-“

“Can someone please give me something I want?” Scorpius’s voice rings through the room, and Albus recognises the misery and anger in it. He’s felt that way himself too many times to count.

“Here,” Draco says softly, handing the cup across to him. “Be careful, it’s hot.”

“It’s tea,” Scorpius says sulkily. “It’s meant to be hot.”

Draco clenches his fists and folds his arms, but he doesn’t say anything to Scorpius. Instead he turns and looks at Albus.

“Do you mind waiting outside for a second?”

Albus shrugs. It’s almost a relief to be asked to leave. For the first time in his life he’s grateful to have an excuse to no longer be in Scorpius’s company. He turns towards the door, and as he does he can see Scorpius watching him out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t look round to catch Scorpius’s gaze. Instead he slips outside and closes the door behind him, then he rests his back against it and slump down onto the ground, burying his face in his hands.

Scorpius in this state isn’t something that he likes. He’s so used to Scorpius being calm and compliant, taking everything life throws at him and dealing with it without complaint. But now Scorpius is finally fighting back and it’s ugly and difficult, and it makes sense, of course it does, for Scorpius to be angry. He deserves to be angry after everything that’s happened. But that doesn’t make it any nicer to deal with.

He gets to his feet, rubbing his arm where Scorpius had accidentally scratched him while lunging for his wand. It stings a bit, but Albus has had worse so it hardly bothers him.

He turns on the spot in the middle of the empty corridor and sighs. He doesn’t know what to do now or what to think. He doesn’t know what’s his fault and what’s not. He doesn’t know if he was meant to do anything different to help Scorpius. If it had been him he’d have fought harder to get his wand back and been quicker to use it. Should he have just let Scorpius get on and do what he wanted to do? What if Scorpius is upset with him now?

He runs his hands through his hair and starts pacing up and down the corridor until he hears the door to Scorpius’s room creak open behind him. He spins round to see Draco standing there, mouth a thin, irritated line that Albus is afraid is directed at him.

“He says he’s going to sleep,” Draco says.

Albus folds an arm across his chest and picks at the sleeve of his hoodie. “Okay.”

“He’s had a difficult couple of days,” Draco says. “I’m amazed he’s lasted this long without...” He gestures with one hand and shakes his head. “He gets his self restraint from his mother.”

“Is he mad at me?” Albus asks. “I would be mad at me. But I thought I was doing the right thing...”

Draco sighs. “Sometimes I don’t think there’s a right thing to do, Albus.”

“So you think I should have-“

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Draco interrupts, and when Albus looks at him he doesn’t think he looks angry or upset. He just looks tired.

“So even if Scorpius is mad at me... you’re not?”

“Not today,” Draco confirms. “Personally I’m quite glad you didn’t let him obliterate all his memories by accident or whatever it was he was going to end up doing. That would have left him in an even worse mood than he’s in now.”

“He wouldn’t have been very happy,” Albus agrees. “I just remembered what the Healers said, and...” He puts his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders. “Isn’t there anything they can do to make it better? They could at least try, right?”

“They could,” Draco says. “We talked about it... Scorpius thinks it would be worth it.”

Albus nods, then he glances at Draco. “I’m going to talk to Delphi,” he says. “She might not tell me the truth, but... I-I want to talk to her.”

Draco’s expression turns very serious. “Be careful,” he says softly.

“She’s my best friend. I think it would be-“

“She may be your best friend but that doesn’t mean... Perhaps it would be wise to talk to your dad first.”

“I don’t need protection,” Albus says. “I’ve been around her for seven years and I’ve been safe. Whoever hurt Scorpius left him alive, and I’m much more likely to be safe than him.” He draws in a breath. “Even if she is, you know, not who I thought... I know she has plans. Maybe... Maybe she needs me. Maybe Harry Potter’s son is more valuable alive than dead.”

“I don’t think that’s an asset you should have to count on,” Draco says darkly.

“I’m also her star broom racer,” Albus replies with a shrug. “It all has to count for something. Honestly, I think – I hope – I’ll be okay.”

“ _Be careful_ ,” Draco repeats, carefully stressing each word. “Scorpius wants you back in one piece. He may be annoyed at you now but he won’t be by the time he wakes up. I can guarantee that.”

“I’ll take care of myself,” Albus promises.

Draco gives a curt nod. “Good. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“I have a race tomorrow, and dinner with parents on Sunday. But I-I’ll try and come by. Maybe in the morning. Definitely in the morning.”

“Very well,” Draco says.

Albus turns to walk away but pauses and glances back. “Tell Scorpius I love him.”

Draco gives a very small, tired smile. “Of course.”


	14. Forgotten

_Albus is late. It’s not entirely deliberate, but he can’t deny that he doesn’t really want to have dinner with his family, even if it is the last Sunday dinner of the Christmas holidays. Even if it is the last Sunday dinner he plans to have with them ever._

_The real reason he’s late is because he tried to take a shortcut across the fields on his way home. The shortcut didn’t exactly work and he got lost, wandering alone across the frostbitten pastures. Eventually he found himself when he managed to jump over a frozen stream to get to the road and discovered that he could get into the bottom of Ottery St Catchpole and walk up through the village._

_Now he’s standing at the garden gate, too scared to go inside. He can see the glow of the kitchen window; he can hear his family talking inside. They sound happy enough without him. If he turns up now he’ll probably ruin their afternoon. But he’s supposed to be there. Part of him_ wants _to be there. It would be nice to try and pretend one last time that he’s part of this family. So he draws in a breath, squares his shoulders, and marches up to the kitchen door._

_The backdoor is open, letting warmth and light out into the cold, grey garden. Albus can hear Lily’s bubbly little laugh, and James talking – James never stops talking. The delicious smell of roast chicken is flooding out too, along with the sharp scent of baking crumble. Despite everything, there’s nowhere he’d rather be in the world than wherever his dad’s cooking is, so he reaches out and nudges the door open enough that he can slip inside._

_Instantly everyone in the room turns to look at him. He doesn’t want to see their faces so he ducks his head, making himself as small as he can._

_“Sorry,” he whispers, but no one hears because his dad chooses that moment to scrap his chair back and get to his feet._

_“Where have you been?” He asks, sharp and unforgiving._

_“I got lost,” Albus mutters, not bothering to try and make himself heard because his dad won’t care anyway._

_“You got lost? You’ve lived here for nearly 17 years, Albus. You can’t have got lost.”_

_“I tried to take a shortcut,” Albus says, raising his voice a little bit but not looking up at his dad. “And then I didn’t know where I was anymore.”_

_“You’ve been away all morning,” Harry says. “Surely you can come up with a better excuse than that?”_

_“It’s not an excuse!” Albus lifts his head and looks at his dad. “It’s the truth. I did want to be here.”_ I like your food. I could have sat between Lily and Mum and pretended that you and James didn’t exist. It could have been okay.

_“You can stop lying now,” Harry says, planting his hands on the table, dominating the space. James is playing with a left-over pea, chasing it round and round with his fork, Lily is watching Harry with an unreadable expression. Only Ginny is looking at Albus, and Albus looks back at her._

_“I’m not lying,” he says. “I really did get lost.”_

_She nods. “I know,” she says gently. “Harry-“_

_“Whether him getting lost is the truth or not, that doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t want to be here, does it, Albus?”_

_“I-“ Albus starts. He_ _locks up, staring at his dad, and around at the rest of his family. Telling the truth is impossible, none of them will believe him even if he does, and he can’t make himself say it anyway. He’s already said it once, he can’t do it again. So he does what he always does when he’s faced with his dad in a situation like this; he twists the awful truth round and reflects it back._

_“There’s a difference,” he says, voice as tight and tense as his body. “Between me not wanting to be here and you not wanting me here.”_

_“Albus,” Lily gasps, staring at him, as Harry straightens up, folding his arms._

_“What’s that supposed to mean?”_

_Albus glares at him. “It means you were having a great time without me. I heard you from outside. Me being here spoils your perfect Potter party, doesn’t it?”_

_“Yeah,” Harry says with a wave of his hand. “You’re right. Maybe it does.”_

_“Harry,” Ginny cries, getting to her feet. “That’s not true. Albus, your father is being-“_

_“Honest,” Albus says. “He’s being honest. I’d rather know what he really thinks.”_

_“No, he’s-“_

_“It’s fine, Mum,” Albus says, cutting across her. “I’m not hungry anyway.” His stomach rumbles at that exact moment, and he knows that she knows it’s a lie. He’s so hungry it hurts, and the delicious smells of chicken and veg and crumble are only making it worse. “I’m going upstairs,” he says. “So you don’t have to put up with me anymore.”_

_“Albus,” his mum calls, but he doesn’t stop until he’s round the table and out of the door._

_“Don’t go,” Lily pleads, rushing out of her chair after him, but he makes it out into the hall before she can catch his arm, and the door slams behind him._

_“Why do you always have to yell at him?” Lily’s voice asks beyond the kitchen door. “Who cares if he’s late? James is late for dinner almost every day when he’s playing Quidditch and you never yell at him.”_

_“That’s sort of true,” James mutters, but Albus doesn’t wait to hear anymore, and the rest of the conversation is drowned by his own footsteps as he sets off running upstairs, feet drumming up two flights of stairs to the top of the house where he flings his door closed behind him, hurls himself onto the bed, and bursts into tears._

_His stomach hurts because he hasn’t eaten since last night, and even then he didn’t eat much before he walked out. His dad hates him. He doesn’t belong to the family. He’s a mess, everything is a mess. He might as well disappear. No one would miss him._

Albus wakes with a jolt. He sits up, rubbing his eyes, and tries to catch his breath. All week he’s been having the same nightmare, over and over again, always about being late, and being shut out and told he doesn’t belong.

He rakes his fingers through his hair and exhales, puffing out his cheeks. The closer he gets to Sunday the worse it gets and the more anxious he gets. He doesn’t want to let everyone down. Again.

He knows that it’ll be easy, all he has to do is not be late. Simple. But the thought of it is stressful, and he so desperately wants everything to be perfect. He wants to be part of the family again.

He flops back onto his pillows and stares up at the ceiling, a shaft of sunlight dazzling his vision. Still, that’s not the first thing he has to be stressed about. It’s not what kept him awake last night. Before all that, there’s something equally as important to tend to. Today he has to race. And more importantly, he has to talk to Delphi.

After he left the hospital yesterday he spent most of the day trying to work out what he was going to ask her. And when he did eventually get into bed, he lay awake for hours writing a script in his head. Words upon words, questions upon questions. Everything he’s ever wanted to ask but never dared to, and all the new things too, the things that are just arising as he tries to work out how she’s embroiled in all this.

Of course sleep has chased all those brilliant thoughts and questions out of his head. His brain is blank, he has no idea what he’s going to say, and he has to face her in- Actually, he has no idea when he has to face her. What time is it?

He rolls across his bed and grabs his wand from the bedside table. Leaning on his pillows for support, he waves it and stares in abject horror at the numbers that appear in the air in front of him. 13:17. The race starts at 14:00. He’s going to miss it.

All his nerves abandon him as he springs out of bed and sprints across to his wardrobe. His flying gear is inside and he pulls it out and hurls it at the bed as he summons his broom and kit bag from downstairs.

He sheds his pyjamas in a second, but his dragon hide clothes are so tight that it takes an agonising amount of wriggling and swearing to get them on. He doesn’t want to know what time it is when he’s done. Too late. Far too late.

He grabs his kit bag off the bed and is about to pick up his broom when he realises that it’s his second broom on the bed in front of him, not his proper racing broom. He can’t go without his racing broom.

Swearing, he tries Accio again and nothing happens. A second time and still nothing. By his third attempt he’s nearly in tears.

“Come on,” he begs. “Please work. Please.”

Apparently what he’s been doing wrong this whole time is not pleading with his magic, because on the third attempt there’s a whooshing noise and his beloved racing broom comes soaring through the door and into his hand. He snatches it out of the air and hugs it.

“Thank you. Can we go now?”

He rummages through his kit bag, checking that everything’s there, then gives up and decides that he doesn’t really need anything besides himself and his broom. He waves his wand to zip the bag shut, and the zip flies shut so fast that it almost rips away from the bag before getting caught on a towel. Albus swears, spends a minute freeing it, zips the bag shut himself, then throws it onto his back and sprints down the stairs and out of the house to the nearest Apparition point.

When he appears on the usually deserted path outside the stadium, he finds himself in the midst of a huge crowd. He’s not ready for it, so he gets swept sideways and spun around. Then someone steps on his foot and swears at him. This is not his day.

“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry. But fuck you too.”

He pulls his bag further onto his shoulder and goes plunging into the crowd, fighting past the people in his way.

“Sorry, sorry, excuse me. Sorry, thank you.”

He struggles up to the gates of the stadium and waves his broom at the person guarding the gate.

“Sev,” he says. “Sorry I’m late.”

The man eyes him up. “Sev. Delphi was looking for you. She said that if you arrived you needed to go and talk to her. She’s waiting in the changing rooms.”

Albus’s insides go cold. He’s not ready for this.

“Now?” He asks. “But the race is about to-“

“Now,” the man says. “She said if you argued that I should remind you that she’s your manager. It’s up to her if you race or not.”

“But-“

“I’d go and talk to her,” the man advises. He glances at the queue of people gathered behind Albus and leans in close. “It’ll be worse if you don’t,” he murmurs. “Good luck.”

Albus looks at the man, and realises that there’s nothing malicious or mocking in his expression. He really does mean good luck.

“Thanks,” Albus murmurs, then he draws in a slow breath and sets off in the direction of the changing rooms downstairs.

Today they’re racing at the stadium in Appleby. It’s one of the smallest stadiums, but it’s also one of the ones Albus knows least well. He follows the twists and turns of the staircase down into the bowels of the stadium, just hoping he’s going the right way.

When he gets to the bottom, he looks one way then the other along the single corridor and picks a direction at random. Thankfully, or not in this case, he picks the right direction and almost immediately stumbles on the changing rooms. He also stumbles upon Delphi.

“What time do you call this?” She asks, tone ice cold.

“I had a late night and slept in, so-“

“Not good enough.” She folds her arms and looks at him. Her gaze is as frigid as her tone. “You’ve completely disappeared. You’ve not been at the training ground, you’ve not talked to me, people have been asking if you’re okay, and now you’re so late for this race that you might as well have not bothered coming.”

Albus clenches his fists and tries not to rise to her bait. Draco’s voice echoes in his head: _be careful_.

“I’m sorry,” he says, fiddling with the strap on his bag and avoiding her gaze. “It’s been a difficult week.”

“You like to feel special,” she says, pushing off the wall with her foot and walking towards him. “Don’t you, Albus? You like to feel different. Poor precious Potter with his difficult life and his difficult week. You’re not alone in that, you know. But since you clearly don’t care about my week let’s talk about yours.”

Albus lifts his head and looks at her. “What happened?”

She shakes her head. “No, you don’t care so there’s no point telling you. Go on.”

Albus swallows. “I do care, Delphi. I- I do.”

She shakes her head and waves an imperious hand for him to talk. It’s quite clear from her tightly pressed lips that she won’t say a word until after he does, so he nods and gets on with it.

“Fine. Scorpius is in hospital. He’s okay, but it was... well, it was scary.”

He watches her as he says it, keeping an eye on her reaction, wanting to see whether she says or does anything. The problem with Delphi is that when she wants to be she’s impossible to read, and apparently she wants to be now, because she barely bats an eyelid at the news.

“Scorpius is in hospital?” She asks, and she sounds surprised but her tone is so carefully restrained that Albus can’t tell if she’s truly surprised or not.

He nods. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“He...” Albus twists the strap on his bag as he carefully chooses his words. “He got attacked. Some injuries. He doesn’t really remember what happened.” _And it happened in your room_ , he adds in his head. _It might even have been you_.

“But he’s alive,” Delphi says, a softness in her tone that Albus could convince himself is sympathy.

He nods. “Thankfully. You still haven’t told me what happened with you.”

Delphi waves dismissively. “Some plans went awry, but that’s not really important. I missed you. I still don’t understand what Scorpius has that I don’t.”

“Delphi,” Albus murmurs, “I’ve told you, there’s nothing-“

“I’m done talking about this,” Delphi says, holding her hand up to stop him. “I expect better from you, Sev. Even if you don’t care about me, you should at least care about your racing, about the league. In case you’ve forgotten, Scorpius is trying to-“

“Albus,” Albus says, and he doesn’t know why, but something inside him is compelling him, for the first time ever, to correct her. Because there is a correction to make.

“What?” Delphi asks, breaking off mid-sentence and frowning at him.

“Albus,” he repeats. “My name is Albus. Not Sev.”

Delphi stares at him, utterly wrong-footed by this sudden development. “No,” she says slowly. “Sev is who you are. It’s your name. It’s your identity. Your future, remember? One day you told me you didn’t want to be known as Albus Potter anymore, you told me to-“

“I changed my mind,” Albus says firmly. “I want to be Albus again.”

Delphi opens her mouth, then closes it again, then does the slow inhale of someone who’s trying to give themselves patience. “Is this why your eyes are green today?”

“What?”

Delphi lifts her chin and Albus can see a sparkle of triumph in her gaze. “Your eyes are green,” she says. “And your hair is long. You’ve forgotten your disguise. You look just like your dad.”

Albus brushes a hand through his hair. She’s right, his hair has grown a lot over the last couple of weeks. He hasn’t bothered cutting it or shaving it. It doesn’t bother him anymore. When he looks in the mirror he doesn’t hate his appearance, partly because he knows that the main person who matters – Scorpius – doesn’t hate it. Sometimes it makes him confused or uncertain, but most of the time he sees something that’s tolerable; that makes sense. The person looking back is familiar. The person looking back is himself.

“I look like Albus,” he says. “I-I look like me.”

“Scrawny, small, unruly black hair, bright green eyes. You’re the spitting image of your dad,” Delphi says. “Does that not bother you?”

“It doesn’t, actually,” Albus murmurs.

Delphi pauses again, once more looking like she’s been knocked back. Everything Albus is saying is a surprise to her. He’s never managed to surprise her before, apart from the first time she saw him fly. She’s always known his mind before he did, like she could see straight into it, but now...

“I’m happy,” he says. “Happy with how I look, happy with who I am, happy with my name, and... For the first time in as long as you’ve known me, I’m happy to be me.”

Delphi recovers and folds her arms, expression turning thunderous. “You’re happy,” she says. “How can you possibly be happy with this? I thought you wanted my help with finding your future! And now you’re walking happily back into your past? What are you doing? What are you thinking?”

Albus shakes his head and spreads his hands. “I have no idea. I don’t have a plan. I’m just trying to do what we always said. Making a future. Albus’s future. My future.”

Delphi is speechless once again. Her mouth is open, her eyes are wide. She doesn’t seem capable of coming up with a thought. Perhaps she’s apoplectic with rage, Albus wouldn’t be surprised, but whatever is going on inside her isn’t coming out, so Albus steels himself and uses her silence to ask the question that he’s been so desperate to ask all week.

“Was it you?”

Delphi’s head twitches. Her eyes lock onto his. She doesn’t say anything.

Albus licks his lips and clenches his fingers tighter round his broom. “Was it you?” He repeats. “You who attacked Scorpius? He was in your room. He was investigating you. And someone’s been trying to kill him. Is it you?”

“Albus!” Delphi gasps, her voice returning to her in an instant. “How could you think something like that?”

“I don’t know!” Albus replies, voice rising, folding his arms defensively across his chest. “You’re always so...” He waves a hand. “So secretive. You never tell me anything. And sometimes I think-“ He swallows. “I don’t know. I-I don’t know...”

“I’ve been your best friend,” Delphi says in a soft, injured voice. “I helped you when you had nowhere to go. I gave you a home, a family, a livelihood. I saved your life. After all that, how can you think that I would-“ She covers her mouth with her hand and stares at him, eyes wide.

Albus bows his head. “I-I know all that,” he murmurs. “I know I shouldn’t... But Scorpius doesn’t remember, and it was your room, and everything else, and... Well, I know you don’t really like him.”

“I don’t think he respects our friendship,” Delphi says, dropping her hand to her side. “That doesn’t mean I don’t like him.”

“He doesn’t mind who I’m friends with. He knows what you’ve done for me. It’s not a lack of respect, I promise.”

“It’s something though.” Delphi folds her arms and gives him a hard look. “Who suggested that it might have been me who hurt him? Did he plant that idea in your head?”

Albus shakes his head and drops his gaze. “It... it seemed logical,” he murmurs, ashamed.

“Logical.” Delphi shakes her head. “Wow. Just... wow.” She turns and starts walking away down the corridor, ponytail bobbing from side to side as she keeps shaking her head.

“Delphi!” Albus chases after her. “Delphi wait. I didn’t mean that. I-It was stupid. I’m sorry.”

“You know,” Delphi says, spinning around so she’s walking backward, “sometimes I can understand perfectly how you made your family hate you. You don’t know when to watch your mouth, do you? Things just come into your head and you say them, and then you act surprised when people get mad at you.”

Albus drops his bag and broom on the ground so he can follow her unencumbered. “I don’t _want_ it to be you,” he says. “I told them it couldn’t be. I tried to explain that you’re- Please don’t be angry at me. Please.”

“Asking me not to be angry isn’t enough. It’s too late for that.”

Albus slumps his shoulders and hangs his head, cheeks burning with regret and embarrassment at his own stupidity. “What do I have to do to make up for it?” He asks.

Delphi stops walking backwards and looks at him. Her head is slightly to one side, and he can feel her inspecting him, calculating his punishment. “You’re not racing this week,” she says. “You’ll be at every training session, and even if you don’t give a shit I want you to pretend to.”

”Okay,” Albus nods enthusiastically. “I can do that.”

“And you won’t see Scorpius.”

A small part of Albus, hidden deep inside, knew that was coming. It’s not a shock to hear that request come from Delphi, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t shake Albus. He reels back a step, trying to catch up, trying to work out what to say. Before he’d had Delphi in this situation, on the back foot, and now she’s returning the favour.

“He’s a distraction,” she continues. “I know you’ve been out all hours, I know you’ve been worrying about him, and honestly? He’s the enemy. He’s trying to shut us down. Don’t forget that, Sev.”

The name sends a spike of irritation running through him. He wants to make her happy, he does, but she’s still not listening to him and she still doesn’t get it.

“I... I can’t,” he says. “I’m sorry, Delphi, but I can’t. I’ll train, I’ll train hard, but I can’t not see him.” He takes a step away, back towards his bag, and picks it up, swinging it onto his shoulder and holding his broom across himself like a shield. “He’s my boyfriend and he’s in hospital. Not seeing him isn’t an option. Not at the moment.”

Delphi gives a curt nod. “Alright. Then we’re done.”

“Done?” Albus asks blankly.

“This,” Delphi gestures between the two of them, “is over. If you want your old life back, you’ve got it, and I won’t be in it.”

“But I want you to be...” Albus grips his broom handle so hard that his fingertips turn white.

“Clearly not enough,” she says. “Goodbye, Albus.” She turns her back on him and walks away.

“Delphi,” he calls desperately after her, voice breaking. “Delphi, please, I-“ She disappears along the corridor, the shaft of sunlight pouring down the tunnel from the pitch above swallowing her up, while Albus stands there in the shadows with his world collapsing around him for the second time in his life.

“Delphi,” he whispers, as the first tears dribble down his cheeks and off his chin, dripping onto the diamond-hard wood of his broom handle and running down to where his hands are still gripping it. His knees buckle, and he falls sideways against the wall, leaning there for support and staring at the point where he’d last seen her.

He should go after her, but he doesn’t have the strength to move right now. He doesn’t even know if he wants to move. Despite everything that Delphi means to him, despite everything she’s done for him, what he feels right now, alongside the despair, is an inescapable sense of relief. It’s sweeping through him, making the tears fall even harder and faster than before, the realisation that he’s free.

If she doesn’t want to see him anymore, if she doesn’t want him in her life then he doesn’t have to work for her acceptance anymore. He doesn’t have to impress her, please her, plead with her. He can just exist, with people who he knows love him, and for the first time in a long time he’s certain that he has some of those.

Somewhere overhead the crowds cheer as the race begins. His broom vibrates slightly in his grip, responding to the roar of the crowd, and he glances down at it.

Is this the end of racing? Is this when he stops forever? If he’s not doing it with Delphi’s sponsorship then what’s the point?

He looks up towards the ceiling and wipes the back of his hand across his cheeks. Maybe that’s a decision for another day. Maybe there are other things to think about first. Maybe he’s not ready to uproot everything in his life in the space of five minutes.

He rests his back against the wall and tries to decide where to go. Being here for any longer isn’t an option, that’s quite clear, but he doesn’t want to be at home on his own. He could go and find his parents, but that seems drastic and fraught with difficulty. Aside from that there’s only really one other option.

Wiping his cheeks clear of tears, he slips out of the stadium and turns on the spot on the path outside, Apparating straight to St Mungo’s.

He gets some odd looks as he makes his way through the hospital, laden with his broom and kit bag, still dressed in all his racing gear, face still tearstained too. He bows his head and tries to make himself as small and invisible as he can, and when he reaches Scorpius’s room it’s a relief.

He knocks quietly and lets himself in. The room is dark and quiet, and he pauses in the doorway, peering around while his eyes adjust. Draco is sitting in the corner, and Albus swings the door shut behind him, trying to make sure it doesn’t slam.

“Is he asleep?” He whispers.

Draco gets to his feet, shaking his head. “I thought you had a race?”

Albus sniffs and sets his kitbag and broom down. “I’d rather not talk about it.” He goes over to Scorpius’s bed and kneels on the floor beside him, gently running a hand down his arm. “Hi sweetheart. I’m here.”

“Albus,” Scorpius breathes, voice raw and hoarse. He starts struggling to roll over towards Albus, and Draco strides across to help.

“Be careful with yourself,” Draco says, adjusting Scorpius’s pillows and tucking the blankets around him.

Scorpius brushes his dad away but Albus can tell that he needs the help. His movements are slow and sluggish, and he keeps pausing with his eyes closed. His face is especially pale today, and Albus can’t help but wonder if the room is so dark for a reason.

“Are you alright?” He asks, as Scorpius settles onto his side and rests his head on the mattress next to his pillow, apparently no longer having the energy to pull it into the right place. Scorpius doesn’t answer, he just rubs his forehead and exhales in a slow, steady stream, like he’s trying to settle himself.

Albus glances back at Draco. “What’s happened? He was doing better yesterday.”

Draco picks Scorpius’s pillow up and tries to slide it under Scorpius’s head, but Scorpius grumbles at him and doesn’t move much to help. Draco sighs and leaves the pillow, looking at Albus instead.

“He managed to convince the Healers to try the spell, but it hasn’t helped much. I think he’s more confused now, and he’s been having headaches.”

“You idiot,” Albus breathes, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “You’re a genius, but sometimes you’re also-“ He shakes his head.

Scorpius opens his eyes and gazes through the darkness at Albus. He reaches up and gently brushes his fingers over Albus’s cheeks. “Why have you been crying?”

Albus turns his head away. “Not important.”

“Was it Delphi?”

“Scorpius, please don’t. It’s in the past. I don’t care anymore.”

Scorpius scrutinises him for a moment, and Albus can almost see him thinking ‘if you don’t care, why are you crying?’, but thankfully he doesn’t pursue it anymore. His eyes flutter closed and he grips Albus’s arm.

“Your head hurts?” Albus asks.

Scorpius gives a tense twitch of his head that’s definitely supposed to be a nod.

Albus glances up at Draco, unsure whether he’ll be told off for asking questions, then decides that he doesn’t care. He’s curious, and a telling off from Draco can’t be any worse than the telling off from Delphi.

“Did you remember anything else?” He asks, lowering his voice so that hopefully only Scorpius can hear.

“I...” Scorpius swallows and takes a breath. “I remember one of the spells. Sectumsempra. It’s the one that...” He pats at his midriff, where the three long scars run across his body. “And I remembered some... some questions.”

“Questions?” Albus asks, leaning in closer. He’s aware that Draco is listening too, also moving so he can better hear Scorpius. Albus isn’t sure how much of this Scorpius has already said, but at least some of it must be new.

Scorpius opens his eyes and looks past Albus, towards his dad. “I don’t know the voice. I don’t recognise it. But I know that they- they wanted to know about Albus. About me and Albus. They wanted to know what I’d done to make him... to make him love me.”

“What?” Draco asks sharply. At the same time, Albus sits back on his heels.

“They wanted to know about _me_?”

Scorpius looks between the two of them, then closes his eyes again. “Yes. They had a plan. They needed you, and they needed me to tell them how I made you fall in love with me. But I-I didn’t. I didn’t do anything. I don’t know why you love me. And when I told them that, they-“ He screws his face up and rubs his temples.

“So it _was_ my fault,” Albus breathes. “It was my fault that you got hurt. My fault that they-“

“I’m not blaming you.” Scorpius opens his eyes and looks right at Albus, frustration and irritation in his voice. “You’re in danger too, if someone wants you for something. It’s not your fault. None of it is.”

“Yes but-“

“Merlin you’re annoying,” Scorpius mutters, burying his face in his hands. “I love you but really.”

“I’m not trying to be-“

Scorpius groans. “Dad will you talk sense into him? My head hurts.”

Albus twists round to look at Draco, bewildered. He doesn’t know if he’s in trouble or not. He doesn’t know if Scorpius is angry at him or not. He doesn’t get any of it. Everything is a mess. Today can’t end fast enough.

“To be clear,” Draco says, in his brusque, authoritative voice. “Someone needs Albus to like them? Love them? For some sort of plan?”

“Well it can’t be Delphi then,” Albus says, folding his arms and leaning against Scorpius’s bedside cabinet. “She hates me and told me we’re done. If she needed me she wouldn’t have-“

“So that’s why you were crying,” Scorpius says softly. “Because she-“

“Someone tortured you,” Draco continues, looking at Scorpius. “Because they wanted information on how to win Albus’s affections?”

Scorpius meets his dad’s eyes and nods. “That’s what I remember.”

“I love you because you’re you.” Albus shifts so he’s kneeling beside the bed again. “No one can replicate that. It’s impossible. You’re my best friend and my... My Scorpius.”

Scorpius nods. “I know.” He pulls his blankets up to his chin and curls up into a little ball. “When I didn’t have an answer they kept hurting me. But there wasn’t an answer to give to make them stop. And even if there had been one...”

“But why do they want information about me?” Albus asks, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m just Albus. I’m not important. Most of the country still thinks I’m missing.”

“Harry Potter’s son would be a useful asset,” Draco says. There’s a darkness to his tone and a shadow in his eyes that reminds Albus of Draco’s past, and the circles he still sometimes moves within. He knows. Maybe he’s even heard people say those exact words before. “And even if most people think you’re missing, your father knows you’re not, and I think that’s the key here. If they can control you then they can control him. You’re blackmail.”

“They’d be better taking James or Lily,” Albus mutters.

“You’d be most likely to turn against your dad,” Draco says, and Albus doesn’t have a response to that. It’s true. Completely true. But perhaps not as true as it once was.

“They can’t know that things are okay now,” Albus says. “If they still want me. Can they?”

Draco shrugs. “Perhaps that’s why they want new information. Perhaps relying on your relationship with your father isn’t enough anymore.”

Albus buries his face in his hands. “I don’t _want_ to help anyone. I don’t want to be associated with anyone evil, with any Death Eaters or anything. Why would they think I would? Whoever _they_ are?”

Scorpius remains silent, and Draco does too, but there’s something in his expression, something that makes Albus’s insides twist with shame. That look says ‘but you already have’.

Albus hangs his head, thinking of Delphi and her finances, and her meetings with the Rowles and goodness knows who else. He thinks of her outrage at the insinuation that she’d attacked Scorpius. He thinks of her smoothing salve onto his burning arm and holding him when he was in too much pain to remember his own name. He thinks of her sitting outside the broom shed in his parents’ back yard with him and talking about the future.

“She doesn’t want to see me anymore,” he whispers. “She said we’re done. I-I get my old life back but I don’t get to keep her. I don’t understand why she’d say that if she needed me.”

“Maybe she wanted you to feel guilty,” Scorpius suggests.

“Well it worked,” Albus says, getting to his feet. He looks between Draco and Scorpius. “I don’t want to do the wrong thing again. I want her, but I don’t even know if I’m allowed to want her. I want you but then I can’t have her. I don’t _want_ my old life back, I want whatever this weird new one is, but I want it simple and uncomplicated, and- I _hate_ this.” He snatches his broom up and shrugs his bag onto his shoulder. “I think I’m going to go home.”

He walks towards the door, but before he can get there, Scorpius calls after him.

“Albus?”

Albus stops with his hand on the doorknob, the door already slightly ajar, and glances back.

“I love you.”

Albus nods. “I love you too.” _That’s part of my problem._

“If someone truly cares about you,” Draco adds, leaning forward so his face is lit by the golden glow coming from the corridor outside the room. “They won’t put conditions on what you can have. They’ll let you have a life that makes you happy. I need you to know that.”

Albus looks at him for a moment, then he turns his head away and stares at his hand on the doorknob. Delphi’s words from earlier echo through his mind: “And you won’t see Scorpius”.

He knows that’s what Draco means, and he knows in his heart that Draco is right, but he can’t shake the memory of Delphi sitting beside him in a darkened room when he was too delirious with pain to even really know that she was there. That’s why this is hard. Because how can he just walk away from six years of friendship? How can he turn his back on the person who saved his life? Surely that deserves some sort of loyalty?

“Just think about it,” Draco says, like he can read exactly what’s going on inside Albus’s head.

Albus twists the doorknob and nudges the door all the way open. “I will.”

It’s a sweltering evening, and Albus can’t sleep. The air is completely still. Even though Albus’s window is wide open no breeze stirs the curtain, no matter how many times he brushes them aside and glares outside at the dark sky, trying to will a breeze into existence. As night draws in with no chance of the temperature dropping, he rips open one of the spell books he keeps tucked under his bed, and starts looking up a Fanning Charm.

It’s at times like this that he most misses Scorpius. The first problem is that it takes Albus three books to find the right spell. The second problem is that once he finds it he can’t work out how to cast it. If Scorpius were here he’d be able to teach Albus, but as it is Albus has to figure it out on his own, and it doesn’t go well.

His first two attempts are utterly ineffective. He doesn’t know if he’s saying the spell right, but his wand movement is definitely wrong. A third attempt produces a feeble sneeze of wind that barely ruffles Albus’s hair, and in his excitement at the hint of success, his fourth attempt creates a gust of hot wind so strong that it knocks him backwards onto his bed, his face stinging from the blast of heat.

“Stupid,” he mutters as he picks himself up. “Useless fucking magic.”

He throws his wand across the room. When it hits the wall it emits a sprinkle of bright red sparks, one of which leaves a scorch mark on his wall. He flops back onto his bed and covers his face with his hands.

The sticky, oppressive air makes his burns prickle. Sweat drips from his forehead, and his back is damp and soggy. Thoughts and worries chase each other around inside his head, Delphi, Scorpius, his dad, Draco, the race he missed, tomorrow’s lunch, plans and schemes and someone trying to get him on their side.

His head hurts. His brain is too busy for him to sleep. He can’t get any peace and quiet. He can’t get cool. He can’t get comfortable.

The blankets tangle themselves around his waist and legs, holding him tight, trapping them. He wants to kick them off but doesn’t have the energy, so he just lies there.

He should go and get his wand and try the charm again. He should go and get some water – his mouth is getting dry. He should take his pyjama top off before it gets anymore sweat soaked; before it starts sticking to his arms, which are already prickling enough from the heat. He should...

He rolls to the side and falls. He lands on his bedroom floor with a crash, hitting his elbow and jarring his back. Suddenly he finds himself fully awake and scrabbling to free himself from the tangle of his blankets. There’s a light breeze wafting through his room, and it’s bright outside. He can hear birds singing.

He can also hear a chirping sound coming from somewhere – his alarm. It sounds faint, distant, muffled by something. But his wand should be right next to his bed.

Rubbing his elbow, he sits up and pats his bedside table, searching for his wand. It’s not there. Where is it?

In a panic he stumbles to his feet and starts throwing all the pillows off his bed. His wand has to be somewhere. He can hear it. It can’t have gone far. When did he last-

His eyes fall on the spell books lying in a haphazard pile on the floor between his bed and the window, and it comes back to him. He threw it across his room.

The burn mark is there on his wall, and he rushes across to it. It only takes him a second to realise that his wand has fallen among a pile of clothes. His alarm has been going for who knows how long and he’s only just heard. But how long has it been going? What if he’s late for lunch?

Heart pounding he picks his wand up, silences the alarm, and casts a Tempus Charm. Silvers threads of magic curl out of the tip of his wand to form numbers: 13:12.

The bottom falls out of his world.

He’d told his dad he’d be there at 10 to help with lunch. They were meant to be eating at one. He’s late for the second day in a row, and this one might actually be worse.

In a panicked rush he starts getting dressed, tugging on his best shirt and a smart pair of trousers. He runs his fingers through his hair and decides he doesn’t have time to brush it. His shoelaces are still tied, but he forces his feet in anyway as he grabs the bottle of wine he was going to take with him. The second he looks even vaguely presentable he sprints for the door and Apparates into the yard of Holly Cottage.

The kitchen door is open but he ignores it and goes round the front. Whatever his mum says, he can’t just come and go here, it’s not _his_ home. Especially right now, when he’s so late they probably don’t even want him here. When he knocks they’ll probably answer the door and tell him to go away, and he won’t blame them. This is the best they’ve ever been able to expect from him, and they know it.

The gold lion’s head knocker on the scarlet painted front door glares down at him. It looks like it’s judging him for his tardiness, and he feels slightly sick as he reaches up to grasp the ring hanging from its mouth. For a moment he can’t bring himself to knock, then his hand slips because his palm is so slick with sweat, both from the heat and nerves. It makes a fine, sharp rap, and Albus knocks a couple more times before skittering back from the doorstep and drying his hands on his trousers.

At first he thinks no one’s going to come to the door. He can’t hear any movement inside the house. It wouldn’t be a shock if they decided he wasn’t worth coming to the door for. Perhaps he should just leave now and save himself the embarrassment.

As he shuffles from foot to foot, trying to decide what to do, he hears the click of the door unlocking. His heart pounds in his chest, and he twists the string of the wine bag around his fingers as he stares at the door. It swings open, and he sees his mum standing there. He braces himself for the explosion but it doesn’t come, instead an enormous, relieved smile spreads across her face and she rushes forward to hug him.

“Albus!”

“Mum?” He tentatively returns the hug, not really sure what’s happening.

“You’re here! We were worried about you. Draco hadn’t seen you. We thought something might have-“ She releases him and steps back to inspect him. “Your dad was all ready to send the Aurors out looking for you. Are you okay?”

Albus bows his head and ruffles a hand through his hair. “I-I am okay. I’m sorry I’m late, I... I don’t have an excuse.”

His mum puts a hand on his arm. “Albus,” she murmurs, “it’s alright. Draco mentioned you’d had a difficult day yesterday. I know there’s been a lot going on. It’s been hard.”

Albus looks at her. “You’re not angry?”

His mum shakes her head. “Definitely not.”

“What about Dad?”

She shakes her head again. “No, just worried. Do you want to come and eat? James was starving – you know how he gets – so we started without you, but there’s plenty left.”

Bewildered and uncertain, Albus nods. “Alright. I brought-“ He holds the bag with the wine in out to his mum, and she wraps an arm round his shoulders and squeezes him tight.

“You didn’t have to bring anything.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

She kisses him on the cheek and ruffles his hair, then takes the bag. “Thank you.”

They go through to the kitchen together, Albus hesitating on the threshold, but before he knows what’s happening he’s hit from the front by something that feels like a solidly-hit Bludger but which is actually his sister, who has leapt out of her chair and tackle-hugged him.

“Albus! You’re actually alive!”

“Lily,” he gasps, staggering back, all the wind knocked out of him. He manages to hug her back, burying his face in her shoulder and clinging to her with everything he’s got. “I missed you.”

She prises herself out of his grip and glares at him, her hands still clenched in the fabric of his top. “I’m going to kill you, you idiot. Disappearing like that, and- Look at you. I can’t believe you’re _here_.” She flings her arms back round him again, and a second later he realises that she’s sobbing, body shaking as she holds onto him.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, rubbing her back. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” she says, voice shaking. “I missed you so much.” She pulls away again, wiping her eyes on his sleeve, but she reaches out a hand to him, and he doesn’t think she looks too angry at him. “You’re going to sit next to me and tell me _everything_. James says you’ve got scars and tattoos and stuff now.”

“I suppose I do,” Albus mutters.

Lily shakes her head and grabs hold of his hand. “How did you end up being my cool older brother? James, you’re officially a nerd now. You never got a tattoo.”

All Albus can do is let her drag him to the table, not really sure what’s happening but just going along with it because it’s Lily and he’s missed her so much.

“I could get a tattoo,” James says. “Maybe I already have one. Maybe I just didn’t tell you.”

Lily rolls her eyes. “Sure. Just admit it, Albus is cooler than you now. Do you want parsnips, Albus?”

Albus sits down in the seat between Lily and his mum and nods, not really knowing what to say. His dad is across the table from him, and while Lily loads his plate he looks across to try and work out if he’s angry or not. It takes him a second to catch his dad’s eye, and when he does he mouths ‘I’m really sorry’. His dad shakes his head and waves a hand, and Albus melts into his seat with relief because by some miracle everything seems to be fine.

Albus can barely move he’s so full. Next to him James is having some sort of stand off with the last dregs of his third helping of crumble, stirring the custardy mulch of breadcrumbs and rhubarb while he glares at it, psyching himself up for one last mouthful.

“You don’t have to finish the entire crumble yourself, you know,” Harry tells him, leaning back in his seat and pushing his glasses up his nose. He looks about as full as Albus feels.

“If you make yourself sick, you’ll be cleaning up the mess,” Ginny adds.

“It’s an insult to your cooking not to finish it,” James says, glancing up at Harry. “And I’m not going to throw up. I have stamina.”

“That’s what you said that one time at Uncle Ron’s birthday party,” Lily says, running her finger round the bottom of her bowl to scoop up the last of the custard.

“Just before you projectile vomited all over the place.” Albus shoots a grin across at James, who glowers and pushes his bowl away.

“Fine. Let it go to waste then.”

Albus had actually been planning to take the leftovers home with him, but he’s not about to tell James that and give him the same idea.

Harry grins and eyes the state of the table. “If everyone’s done then I suppose we should start thinking about doing the washing up.”

“No, Dad.” Lily leaps to her feet and starts clearing everything away. “You did all the cooking. We’ll wash up. It’s fine.”

Albus nods and gets up to help her, trying to ignore how painfully full he feels. He doesn’t think he’s eaten so much in years. “I’ll help.”

“Do you want a game of Exploding Snap, Dad?” James asks, and Lily sighs and rolls her eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Albus bows his head to hide his grin as he picks up James’s bowl of crumble mush. When he glances up he catches his mum’s eye, and she rolls her eyes too, looking just like Lily. Albus can’t hold back his snort of laughter, and receives an indignant poke in the side from James as punishment. He dodges away and starts stacking up the rest of the crumble bowls, a golden glow of happiness making him feel feather-light, despite the weight of food in his belly.

“Alright,” Harry says, heaving himself up out of his chair. “I’ll come and thrash you at Exploding Snap. Will you two be-“

“We’re fine,” Lily interrupts. “Go and entertain James. Merlin knows someone needs to.” She sticks her tongue out at her brother, who sticks his tongue out back before waltzing off in the direction of the front room, already agreeing rules with Harry.

Ginny gets her feet and draws her wand, levitating the glasses over to the sink with a single wave. “Are you sure you’ll be okay out here? I think I should go and make sure those two don’t burn the house down.”

“They need the supervision more than we do,” Lily assures her, and Albus grins.

“Did you ever sort out that burned curtain?” He asks.

Ginny sighs. “We still don’t talk about that. I really liked those curtains.”

“At least I never burned anything,” he points out, dumping his bowls into the sink.

Lily comes up beside him and sets a load of plates down. As she does she throws a pointed look at his arms that he doesn’t miss. He nudges her.

“I don’t count.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Those two,” Ginny says, setting the almost-empty crumble bowl down beside the rest of the dishes, “are just...”

“A nightmare?” Lily suggests.

“I was going for unique,” Ginny says. She puts a hand on Albus’s shoulder. “Don’t take too long on these. We can sort them out later. Come and join us when you’re done.”

“We will,” Lily chirps, and she starts filling the sink with water and soap suds.

The kitchen door clicks shut behind Ginny, and Albus finds himself alone with his little sister for the first time in years.

It’s not like they haven’t been talking during dinner. She’s already grilled him about Scorpius and life as an illegal broom racer. She knows all about his trip to Europe, and about everything that’s happened since he got back. Over parsnips and Yorkshire puddings he’s told her more than he’s told most people, but that doesn’t help now. This is different. Being alone is different. So now his mouth has gone dry and he has no idea what to say next. Instead he stops washing the bowls and leans against the side and watches her.

Her red hair is so much shorter than it used to be. Sometimes he would sit and plait her hair when she was younger; one time just before he’d left he’d managed to conjure a flower to decorate the end and her face had lit up when she’d seen it. But now she’s got it cut short, and there are colours and highlights in it, gold and scarlet and rich brown.

Beneath her hair he can see gold pendants in her ears, glittering in the sun streaming through the open kitchen window, geometric shapes that cast patterns in shadows on her cheeks when she turns her head. They frame her face, making it looks sharper, more pointed and refined in the same way as their mum’s. She really does look a lot like Ginny.

In the years since Albus has left she’s grown up. She’s not fifteen years old anymore. She’s an adult, with her own life, her own future, and a large fragment of her past that Albus can only guess at, taking hints from the deep tan colouring her previously pale skin, the nugget of gold hanging on a thin chain round her neck, and the confident, quick movements of her wand as she starts coordinating a parade of plates and dishes to wash themselves.

“Lily,” he starts softly, but she gets there first.

“I didn’t think you were going to come.” She lifts her head and looks at him. “I really didn’t. I hoped you would, but then... I still can’t work out if I would have been surprised if you hadn’t come. It didn’t feel like a surprise when I got here and there was no sign of you.”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind,” Albus says, and it sounds like such a lame excuse that he feels ashamed of saying it.

“You’ve _always_ had a lot on your mind.” There’s something sharp in Lily’s tone, pointed, but Albus doesn’t think it’s a criticism exactly. It’s just the truth.

“Will you tell me about you?” He asks, wanting to change the subject. “Tell me about being a Curse-Breaker. Or anything, really. I want to know everything.”

She flicks her wand at a plate that isn’t quite keeping up with the rest of the crockery as it marches towards the sink. It scurries forward to fall back in line as fast as it can, apparently eager not to disappoint her. She surveys the other dishes, checking they’re all doing what they should be, then she tucks her wand away and turns to look at Albus.

“I’m only just a proper Curse-Breaker,” she says, fiddling with the gold nugget around her neck. “I finished training just before I came back. When I go to Peru it’ll be my first proper job.”

There’s something wistful, almost sad, about the way she says it, and Albus understands why. He feels a bit sad too. All those years of training, a whole section of her life, and he’s missed it all.

“Where’s your favourite place you’ve been?” He asks.

She frowns and leans against the work top. “Good question. Egypt was definitely cool, but I loved this one job we did in Rome. We got to go in all these creepy catacombs. They were all lined with bones and skulls, and there was this enchanted mist that seeps into your brain and makes you so paranoid and delirious that you end up killing yourself.”

“Cheerful.”

“Very,” Lily says brightly, eyes glittering.

“What’s your favourite curse that you’ve had to break so far.”

“Hmm.” She brushes a golden strand of hair out of her eyes and taps her finger against the handle of her wand in her pocket. “I like the ones in Egypt that make people shrivel up or grow an extra head. The Ancient Egyptians were gross. But on my second set of training tests we had this one that was basically a glorified version of a Bat Bogey Hex. Those things were enormous and nasty. One of my friends got hit by it. He almost got smothered. It was amazing – I mean not at the time, at the time it was awful, but afterwards...” She sighs, a far off look misting her gaze as she reminisces about giant flying bogeys, and it’s such a Lily thing to do that Albus wants to go over and hug her. She may have grown up but she’s still his little sister.

“Anyway,” she says finally. “What about you? Where’s your favourite place to race?”

They start trading questions back and forth, accompanied by the splashing of the crockery as it washes itself up. It’s calm and comforting. Albus has always found it easy to talk to Lily, and nothing has changed there. She’s just as smart and funny as she ever was, perhaps even more so, and it’s fun to stand there in a pool of warm afternoon sunlight and chat.

“What broom do you race with?” Lily asks, as Albus tries to work out how to get the tea towel to dry the plates for him.

“Normally my customised Cloudburst 2. But if it’s having a temperamental day I’ve got a Nimbus 5000 that’s solid as a rock.”

Lily whistles. “A _customised_ Cloudburst. Don’t let James hear you say that. He’ll be after it.”

“He can try and steal it,” Albus says, glancing at her, “but it won’t help him. It only flies for me.”

She smiles. “You really are a professional.”

Albus smiles back. “I suppose I am.” He finally manages to get the tea towel to obey him, and it starts vigorously drying the nearest dinner plate. “If you weren’t a Curse-Breaker, what would you be?”

“Ooo, another good question.” She twirls around and hops up onto the counter next to the sink, drumming her heels against the cupboard door below her. “I suppose it would have been fun to play Quidditch like Mum did, but I didn’t really give it much thought... When I was in fifth year I considered being an Auror for a while. I... I had this thought that maybe if I joined Dad’s department I could help him look for you. But then I...” She swallows and looks down at her knees. “It got old really quickly. The looking for you. Missing you. I guessed that if you didn’t want to be found we wouldn’t find you, and you didn’t, did you?”

“I don’t know,” Albus says, poking at one of the wine glasses, which is lagging behind the others as it hops along the draining board.

“How can you not know?”

Albus shrugs. “I don’t know that either.”

“Well that’s very conclusive.”

Albus looks hopelessly at his sister. “I didn’t want to be found,” he says. “I really didn’t. I wanted to disappear and start again. But... but that doesn’t mean that... I still missed you. And there were days when I felt- I was terrified of being found but it might have been a relief. It was really hard. Really lonely.”

“Well that’s something,” Lily mutters, a hint of bitterness in her tone. “At least you were suffering too. I hoped you would be.”

Albus stares at her. “Did you?”

She nods and folds her arms. “Of course I did. Whenever Mum cried, whenever James did his chores without a fight because he was too miserable to bother arguing, whenever Dad spent _another_ night Merlin knows where because someone reported seeing a small skinny kid with black hair that might possibly have been you... I really _really_ hoped that you were suffering as much as the rest of us, because how _dare_ you run away and destroy us all like that and not suffer any consequences.”

Albus can’t do anything other than stare at her, grip tight on his wand, with no idea what to say or do. She’s not even looking at him now. Her gaze is dark and cloudy, impenetrable.

“I was really mad at you,” she continues. “I’m _still_ mad at you. You tore the heart out of this family when you left, you know. You tore it out and took it with you. And I know you felt like you didn’t fit, or there wasn’t space for you or whatever, but there was. I promise. You didn’t need to go.”

Albus twists his wand round in his grip and the tea towel he’s been levitating falls onto the draining board, along with the bowl it’s drying, which cracks.

“Shit,” he mutters. He spins round and waves his wand at the bowl. “Reparo. No, Come on. Reparo.” At the second attempt the pieces of the bowl seal back together and he picks it up and inspects it.

Lily sits and watches him, still drumming her heels against the cupboard door, not attempting to help.

There’s no sign of any damage left on the bowl, and Albus picks the tea towel up and finishes drying it by hand. When he’s done he sets it gently down on the side and rests his hands on the metal draining board, staring down at the water and soap suds running across it. It takes him a little while to find his voice, but when he finally does it comes out very small, no more than a murmur.

“Dad told me to leave. He said I should- And I was always messing up, like those dinners that I was late to, and... I wanted to see what life would be like if I wasn’t Albus Potter. And I thought that none of you would miss me, that you’d be better off without me. I-I was convinced. And by the time I’d left it was too late to turn back. I thought it would be better for all of us.”

Lily gazes at him, her deep brown eyes – Ginny’s eyes; Sev’s eyes – glowing almost amber in the bright light from the kitchen window. “And what was it like? Not being Albus Potter?”

He meets her eyes and gives her a tiny, sheepish smile. “It had its ups and downs.”

“I imagine literally, If you were racing.”

Albus’s smile inches wider across his face. “Diving _is_ my speciality.”

“So they were mostly downs?” Lily asks, and Albus can tell by her grin and the sparkle in her eye that it’s a joke, but it aches more than any joke should, and he can’t manage to grin back at her.

“On reflection,” he murmurs, “I think I do prefer it here. I think.”

She stops swinging her feet and her grin fades into a sharp, serious gaze. “Do you really?”

He nods. “At least I know where I stand here. I know that if Dad is mad at me he won’t hold back. Nor will you, apparently. And I know that Mum means it when she says she loves me, Scorpius too. And I know that James is James... But out there it’s not so clear.”

“Isn’t it?” Lily asks, head tilted slightly to one side, scrutinising him.

He shakes his head. “No, it’s not, it’s...” He braces his hands on the draining board and bows his head. “There’s someone I was friends with the whole time I was away. My best friend, at least I thought she was. But now I’m not so sure, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Is this my big brother asking for advice?” Lily uncrosses her arms and leans forward on her hands. “Because that’s a first. You were always so sure of the right thing to do. That’s how you ended up running away.”

He glances at her. “I know. That’s why I need advice. Because I don’t want to do anything so stupid again.”

Lily brushes a bit of hair off her face and twists the nugget of gold between her thumb and forefinger. “What happened?”

“I’m not even sure,” Albus says. “I came back and I ran into Scorpius, and at some point I realised that I was missing out on so much. I hoped that I could find a way to have both, the old life and the new one, but she – my friend – she wasn’t really pleased with that. And then yesterday we had this fight after I asked her for the truth about something important. I don’t know if I got the truth, and she walked out on me. She said we’re ‘done’.” He draws little quotes in the air with his fingers as he says the last word.

“‘Done’?” Lily echoes, repeating the gesture back at him.

He nods. “That’s what she said. And all because I said I couldn’t stop seeing Scorpius.”

Lily wrinkles her nose. “Sounds like a pretty shit friend.”

“She saved my life once,” Albus says.

“Yeah. Once. And now she’s what? Making you choose between her and the guy you’ve been in love with literally forever?”

Albus pulls a face. “I haven’t been in love with him forever. We’ve only been dating for-“

“Albus Severus Potter, you’ve been raving about that boy and his sweets ever since the day you first met him.” She gives him a hard look beneath raised eyebrows. “Maybe you didn’t know you were in love with him, but for the rest of us it was plain to see.”

Albus glowers at her, mostly because he can’t deny it. “Fine. So I might have been- but she _did_ save my life, and she gave me somewhere to go when I left. She was the one who made me realise that-“ He cuts himself off before he says ‘that leaving was an option’, because that sounds awful, and it’s a poor way to describe what happened. She didn’t make him leave after all. It was Harry’s fault, and Albus’s, not Delphi’s.

He thinks back to the conversations where she talked about the future and showed him a way out. He thinks back to those days sitting outside the broom shed, the walks through nearby fields, the way she’d listened to him, the way she’d talked about freedom and choice and presented all the possibilities of a world without his dad, without Hogwarts, without a family or a name to weigh him down.

“Made you realise that?” Lily prompts, looking expectantly at him.

“That I had options,” Albus says.

“She suggested you should leave.”

“No, it wasn’t-“

Lily holds a hand out to stop him. “Albus? You can be friends with whoever you want. You can trust whoever you want. But all I want to say is that you’re not selling this girl to me very well. I think you can do better. I think you’ve _got_ better. Scorpius is... He’s Scorpius. There shouldn’t even be a decision here.”

Albus looks hopelessly at her and knows she’s right. His shoulders slump and he sighs. “Do you want to go and play some Exploding Snap?”

“Will that make you look less like a Niffler that’s just had all the gold tickled out of it?”

Albus shrugs. “Maybe?”

Lily hops down from the worktop. “In that case, Exploding Snap it is.”

They don’t just play Exploding Snap. Somehow, once James has nearly set fire to the hearth rug and Albus’s eyebrows are almost singed off, they end up decamping to the orchard for a game of Quidditch in the afternoon sun. It wouldn’t have been Albus’s first choice of afternoon activity – he’d spent most of his childhood avoiding games of Quidditch with his family – but to his surprise he finds that he enjoys himself.

It’s significantly more chaotic than a normal Quidditch match. Although they don’t let the Bludgers out, they loose a Snitch so they have to pay attention to both scoring and Seeking at once. Albus and Lily play against Harry and James, while Ginny decides to referee because ‘someone has to stop you all cheating’.

Secretly, Albus thinks that he and Lily have a significant advantage over James and Harry. His sister is a ruthless Quidditch player, probably the best in the family, and then there’s him. He may not be as strong in the realms of hand-eye coordination and he may not have lived and breathed the game for years, but he’s quick. He knows he can outfly any of the rest of them, and he hopes he can be the secret weapon. Even though the others know he’s been racing for years, none of them have seen him in action. He hopes they’ll underestimate him.

It’s weird to be on a broom and not have to worry about Fiendfyre. Weird but nice. The only obstacles in the orchard are the trees and James’s elbows, which he’s putting to excessive and highly illegal use.

“Ow,” Albus groans as James digs him in the ribs and nicks the Quaffle. “You can’t do that.” He elbows James back, harder, and James makes a great show of dropping the Quaffle and reeling away, clutching his side.

“Mum, he-“

“No he didn’t,” Ginny says, flying over. “Albus, take a penalty shot.”

Albus sticks his tongue out at James as he soars up the makeshift goalposts and throws the Quaffle so it just brushes past Harry’s outstretched hand for a goal.

“Cheat,” James mutters as he flies past Albus to collect the Quaffle, bumping into him. Albus bumps him back and grins. He’s used to much worse during races, but James isn’t to know that.

James and Harry are better at scoring so they take an easy lead. Lily does her best to stop their shots, and Albus does his best to catch the Quaffle when it’s passed to him, but he’s not the best at catching or passing on the move. He has a plan though, a plan that he hopes will win them the game.

It’s obvious that his dad is keeping half an eye out for the Snitch the whole time. Harry has a knack for spotting the tiny ball that Albus will never match, but Albus has a turn of speed that Harry will never match. All he has to do is wait for his dad to spot the Snitch and then beat him to it. And in the meantime he has to hope that his dreadful Chasing won’t lose them the game anyway.

“Albus,” Lily yells, “catch!”

She hurls the Quaffle at him and he tries, he really tries, but he fumbles it and it plummets towards the ground. He dives to catch it but his cheeks burn and he feels useless. This is why he never played Quidditch with the family before. He’s by far the worst. It’s humiliating.

“Sorry,” he mutters to Lily when she next flies past.

“It’s just a game,” she says with a bright smile. “It doesn’t matter.”

But of course it matters. This is the Potter family. Here, Quidditch is everything.

“It really doesn’t matter,” she says, shooting him a knowing look. “Anyway, they’re only 100 points ahead. When we catch the Snitch we’ll still win.”

“Hopefully,” Albus sighs, casting another glance at Harry.

It’s another ten minutes before it happens, ten minutes in which James and Harry pull another 30 points ahead. Albus just happens to glance across at Harry at the exact moment his eyes narrow and his face turns steely with concentration. Albus twists round to see what he’s looking at and spots it, glittering gold in a dapple of sunlight right at the base of one of the apple trees. He can get there first.

Harry accelerates, but Albus drops flat against his broom and it shoots forwards, fast as an arrow. This isn’t his usual broom, it’s not nearly as quick and it doesn’t really know him, but it can clearly sense that he means business because it’s responding.

“Shit,” James says as Albus streaks past him. “He’s fast.”

_Yes he is_ , Albus thinks as he bears down on the Snitch.

Harry started off closer, he’s ahead by several metres, but he keeps glancing behind, and Albus knows that his dad knows that he’s by far the faster.

Harry is urging his broom on, but Albus doesn’t need to do that. He’s deliberately taken a higher line so there’s further to dive. When he’s practically on top of the Snitch he drops like a stone from the sky.

The ground comes up far too fast, but the Snitch is right there. Albus zooms past his dad, close enough to feel the brush of his arm as he passes. He knocks his dad’s hand out of the way and makes a desperate swipe at the Snitch, hoping that for once in his life he’ll actually be able to catch something, and he does.

He scoops the Snitch out of the air and pulls out of the dive with less than an inch to spare. His toes brush the roots of the tree as he spirals away, grinning, the Snitch flapping hopelessly in his grip.

“I got it!” He crows, waving his hand at Lily. “We won!”

She pelts across to him and hugs him, ruffling his hair. “Nice work.”

“How the fuck do you fly that fast?” James asks, zooming over to them, Harry trailing behind him looking slightly stunned.

Albus shrugs and gives a modest smile. “Practice.”

James shakes his head. “Can you teach me?”

“No,” Lily says, “he can’t. Because then you’ll have a chance of beating us, and winning is fun.”

She’s right. Winning _is_ fun. As they land and start packing up, Albus can’t keep the smile off his face; it only grows wider when his dad gives him an approving nod. He may not be the best Quidditch player in the world but for the first time, with this one tiny victory, he feels like he might just belong in this family. It feels good.

“Are you happy?” Ginny leans in the kitchen doorway and folds her arms as she watches Harry gazing out of the window at the kids, who are sitting on the wall at the edge of the patio together, watching the sunset over the orchard.

Harry glances round to look at her and nods. He rests his back against the side by the sink and pushes his rolled-up sleeves further up his arms. “Sometimes I don’t realise how much I miss them until they’re here. At the end of the day they’re all going to go back to their lives, and...” He sighs.

Ginny rounds the table, tucking James’s chair away as she goes. “At least we know they’re all going to come back again though. We will see them. We couldn’t say that before.”

“True,” Harry says softly.

She stands beside him and ruffles the messy tuft of hair at the base of his neck. “I think they’re okay,” she murmurs, watching as Lily manages to nudge James off the wall and into the Flutterby bush, whose blossoms explode upwards in a rainbow, fluttering cloud, while Albus starts laughing so hard he has to put his drink down so he doesn’t spill it.

“That bush might not be,” Harry says with a smile, putting an arm round her.

“No, perhaps not.”

She rests her head on his shoulder and watches as the Flutterby blooms settle on the three kids. James starts brushing them off straight away, while Albus stays perfectly still, arms out, watching the fluttering flowers perched on him. Lily leans across and manages to scoop one of the flowers out of Albus’s hair. It sits on her finger, ruffling its petals, and she holds it out to him and says something.

He frowns, then closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again he blows on the flower. The breath catches under the petals, lifting the flower into the air and towards James, who sneezes, sending all the flowers fluttering into the air again and back onto their bush.

Harry laughs and rests his head on top of Ginny’s.

She runs her fingers down his back and enjoys the warm vibrations of his laughter against her body. It’s been too long since he laughed like that. It’s been too long since a summer evening felt this free and easy and suffused with joy.

“It’s nice,” Harry says softly, looking down at her.

“It is,” she replies, nodding and looking up at him.

He lifts his head and skims his hand down her side. “It feels like we’re a family again.”

She nods. “It does. It really does.”

“I...” He pauses and withdraws his hand, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I sometimes doubted whether this would ever happen, did you know that? I doubted whether Albus would ever come home. But he’s here now. We’re here. We’ve made it.”

“We have,” Ginny says, taking hold of his hands and squeezing them tight. “Finally.”

Harry wraps his arms round her and leans down to give her a solid kiss. “Finally.”

The sun is almost fully set. Above the orchard and nearby fields, the sky is a deep turquoise, lightening to pale gold at the horizon. The night is sprinkled with silver stars, and among the dark branches of the trees, tiny fairy lights sparkle, extending the star field down into the orchard.

Albus sits on a garden chair, a delicate champagne flute held between his fingers. Lily sits on one side of him, her head on his shoulder, and Harry sits on the other side, embroiled in an argument about Quidditch with James. Despite all the chatter, Albus feels a warm sense of peace and contentment.

After the almost-disaster of earlier, the day has turned out rather well, in fact Albus doesn’t think he could have hoped for better. It has felt wonderful to be part of the family again. He can’t remember the last time he felt like this. Maybe he never did. But today he actually feels like he belongs here, like he was meant to be here all along.

“You’ve gone all smiley,” Lily mumbles, blinking sleepily at him. She pokes him in the side. “What are you thinking about?”

Albus looks at her and his smile widens even further. “Nothing.”

“You’re in the same vicinity as James,” Lily says, lifting her head. “No one can be that happy when he’s on one of his Quidditch rants.”

Albus glances across at James, who’s leaning towards Harry, hands flailing, eyes ablaze with passion. The argument is in such full, loud flow that no one else can get a word in, and on any other day it would be infuriating, but this isn’t any other day.

“He’s not that bad,” Albus says. “He’s just... James.”

Lily snorts. “You’ve been away too long. You’ve got all sentimental.”

Albus watches his brother give Harry a look of sheer outrage and incredulity, hands spread, mouth open. It’s so James, and where once these arguments would have sent him off to his room, rolling his eyes in irritation, today he appreciates it. This is the sort of thing he has to put up with to be a Potter and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Maybe I have,” he agrees.

“You _definitely_ have,” Lily says, taking a sip of her champagne. “Only someone who’s hopelessly sentimental could say that James is ‘not that bad’.”

James breaks off mid-rant and looks at them. “What was that? You’re talking about me.”

Lily smirks and pats Albus on the knee. “Albus was just saying how much he loves you, James.”

Albus holds his hands up in protest. “I don’t think I’d quite go-“

He’s too slow. James is already up out of his seat and waltzing across the patio to smother him in an impossibly tight and overwhelming hug.

“Were you?” James ruffles his hair. “It’s always nice to hear I’m appreciated.”

Albus squirms. “I... can’t breathe...” He gives James a little shove, and James actually notices and lets go.

“Seriously though,” he says, his ridiculous grin fading as he looks down at Albus. “I do love you, little idiot.”

Normally Albus would protest at being called an idiot, but since he deserves it, and since the rest of the sentiment is so nice, he lets it go.

He looks up at his brother and gives a small, genuine smile in return. “Yeah,” He says softly. “I love you too.”

James hugs him again, a proper hug this time. It doesn’t feel like Albus is suffocating this time; it feels like a little broken bit of him is being pieced back together. This whole day has felt like that. And when Albus hugs James back, he hopes that maybe he’s managed to fix some of the damage he’s caused too.

“Wow,” Lily says, her voice interjecting into the warm, hopeful moment. “I think this needs a toast. To Albus and James’s newfound love.”

James pulls back and lunges across to grab his champagne glass. “No no, to my little brother appreciating me.”

“To Albus coming home,” Ginny says, picking up her own glass.

“To family?” Harry suggests.

Albus looks around at them all, at his little sister who’s all grown up, at his mum’s soft smile, at his ridiculous older brother, at his dad who looks so relaxed and happy. They’re his difficult, irritating, wonderful family, and right now they’re all looking expectantly at him, waiting for his suggestion, because he’s one of them. He belongs here. They want him here.

He turns his champagne flute round between his fingers, then raises it so the rising golden bubbles sparkle silver in the glow of the fairy lights.

“To us,” he says softly. “To the Potters.”

“To the Potters,” his family echoes back, and they all drink.


	15. Solstice

_There are days when being in the air is simply fun, and today is one of those. Albus rises with the sun and perches on his bedroom windowsill, broom in his hand, waiting._

_It doesn’t take long before he spots the first of the balloons ascending over the city. The candy-striped canopy gleams in the morning sunshine as it breaks past the rooftops, swollen with hot air. Within seconds it’s followed by a second, and a third, until a whole flock of hot air balloons are suspended in the cobalt morning sky._

_Grinning, Albus Disillusions himself then mounts his broom and takes off. The sun is warm on his back and there’s a gentle breeze, just enough to send the balloons on their lazy way. The conditions are perfect, and with most of the world still asleep, there’s a peaceful tranquillity to the flight. It’s just Albus, sharing his sky with these vibrant newcomers._

_He joins them as they begin to cross the river, gliding past the suspension bridge and on towards the city. As they go he weaves among them, unseen, enjoying the shapes and colours._

_There are days when flying feels like a chore, something he only does because he’s supposed to, because he’s good at it, because Delphi wants him to and he doesn’t want to let her down. And then there are days like this. On days like this it feels fun, it feels free, and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than in the sky._

_He corkscrews round an enormous balloon in the shape of a dog and dives down as the people inside light the burners and it starts to rise above the gorge. He’s in the thick of the balloons now, invisible among them, part of the flock although no one knows it except him._

_He zooms past a couple sipping champagne and pointing down at the bridge. He spirals round a basket containing a young family of five – a little girl is turning round and round, grinning at the other balloons, as her dad keeps an eye on her. In another of the balloons, an older lady wearing a sunhat leans back and fans herself, watching the sunrise._

_Up here it’s like the ground doesn’t exist. Why think about the city below, ordinary life, when all that’s needed is the cloudless sky, the sunrise, and this feeling of weightless joy._

_Albus rolls over and dives down below the balloons, then he bursts up through the middle of them, climbing sharply, until he’s higher than the very highest and he can look down on the cloud of jewel bright canopies._

_This is the best thing about his life. He can see things that no one else does. Life in the sky is spectacular. Even if there were no balloons here it would still be a dazzling sunrise, but with them it’s unmissable._

_There’s only one thing about it that he wishes were different. If he could have anything in the world he’d have someone to share this with. It’s an impossible dream – there’s no one he knows now who’d appreciate this – but if the fairytale, wish-granting sort of magic his dad told him stories about when he was little did exist, he’d wish Scorpius back into his life and bring him up here. That would make it perfect._

_He skims above the balloons, imagining Scorpius’s face if he could see this, imagining Scorpius’s reaction to being in his world. He almost can’t do it, because Scorpius is so far away, their lives so far apart now, but he can still just about see Scorpius’s smile in his mind’s eye. That’s not a smile he could forget easily. Scorpius would_ definitely _smile like that if he could see this: as bright as the rising sun, with all the warmth and vibrancy of the multicoloured multitude of the balloons. Even now, Albus thinks he would do anything to see that smile again. Maybe one day he can make it happen. Maybe. If only._

_He sinks back into the cloud of balloons and tries to stop himself from thinking. Thinking is never a good idea, especially not when he’s up here. Thinking is hard and painful. He should just be enjoying right now._

_He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, does a loop the loop in the air, and makes himself turn off his brain._

A brilliant Sunday gives way to an excellent week. Albus takes Lily’s advice and steers clear of the training ground and anywhere else Delphi might be. It’s the longest he’s been apart from her in at least the last seven years, and it feels good. It feels like he can breathe.

He spends his time in the hospital with Scorpius until Tuesday night, when Scorpius is allowed to go home, then he stays in his own house and studies. For a long time he’s wanted to focus on practicing magic, but he’s never had time. But now, without Delphi getting in the way, he has all the time in the world.

It’s exhausting and demoralising at times, and incredibly rewarding at others. He Firecalls Scorpius for hours at a time some days, asking for tips, showing him little tricks that he’s managed to work out, and over the week he begins to feel like he’s making progress. Dreams of retaking his O.W.Ls, or even trying an N.E.W.T. or two, no longer feel horribly out of reach. As Scorpius has told him plenty of times, he’s not bad at magic, he’s just lacking in confidence.

By Saturday, he decides it’s time to escape his house and reward himself. He’s also very much aware that Scorpius is becoming very bored of being cooped up in the Manor, no matter how many books there are in his dad’s library. So, on Saturday afternoon, he Apparates to the Manor to ask Draco if he can borrow Scorpius until Sunday evening.

“Borrow Scorpius,” Draco says dubiously. “And what exactly would this borrowing entail?”

Albus sighs and shuffles his feet. “I suppose I want to take him on a date. I think he’ll like it. It’s one of the things I’ve been wanting to show him for a long time.”

“Does it have to be an overnight date?” Draco asks, folding his arms. “He’s only just come out of hospital. I don’t know if he’s up to-“

“I’m up to anything, Dad,” Scorpius says, materialising in the doorway next to Draco. “Hi, Albus.”

Albus grins at him. “Hi. You look good.”

Scorpius does a happy little wiggle. “I feel good!” He looks at his dad. “I’ll behave? Not overexert myself, be calm, not try to remember anything I shouldn’t, etcetera.”

Draco sighs and looks at him. “I know you’ll behave, but that still doesn’t mean that it would be the best thing for your health.”

“Being stuck here dying of boredom isn’t great for my health either,” Scorpius points out. There’s a stubbornness in his expression, and Albus knows that he personally wouldn’t want to try and argue with that. Draco, however, is undeterred.

“Ending up back in hospital wouldn’t be great for your health either. Nor for your boredom.” He looks at Albus. “Does it have to be tonight? Can it wait a couple of days?”

Albus shakes his head. “It’s... it’s time dependent. I promise I’ll take care of him.” He glances at Scorpius, wondering how possible it is to persuade him to look after himself. The way he’s bounding from foot to foot at the moment, like he has all the energy in the world, suggests that it might be difficult.

“It’s nothing taxing,” he continues, looking back at Draco. “It’s not a party, or-“ He shrugs, lost for something that might constitute Draco’s idea of taxing.

“If it was a party I’d say no anyway.” Scorpius grins over his dad’s shoulder at Albus, smile bright as sunshine. Albus’s stomach swoops, and he grins hopelessly back in response. He’s missed having Scorpius in front of him, real and solid and well, full of light and life. Once again he’s struck with how much he loves this boy.

Draco turns round and looks at Scorpius, who stops grinning and gives him a look of pitiful hope.

“It might even help me feel better,” he says. “It might give me something positive to hold onto during my-“

“Go on then,” Draco says, breaking a smile and waving a hand at Scorpius, who hops into the air and lets out a high-pitched squeak of joy.

“Thank you!”

“You’re impossible.” Draco rolls his eyes and turns to Albus. “I want him back in one piece.”

Albus stands to attention and nods. “Of course. I won’t let anything happen, I promise. It’s all very low risk.”

“You’re a Potter,” Draco says. “Nothing you do is low risk.”

Albus snaps his mouth shut and doesn’t know how to respond.

“Oh, don’t look like that. It’s fine. I know you’ll take care of him. Have fun – not too much fun.”

Albus nods again, hardly daring to believe his luck. “Okay. Thank you.” He catches Scorpius’s eye and grins at him.

“Are we going now?” Scorpius asks, bouncing from foot to foot.

“Do you have time to stay for dinner?” Draco asks Albus, putting a gentle hand on Scorpius’s shoulder to make him stop bouncing.

Albus looks down at his scruffy jeans, and the soft but somewhat threadbare shirt he’s wearing. He hadn’t really thought beyond asking Draco if Scorpius was well enough for going out. These aren’t date clothes and they’re certainly not suitable attire for dinner at the Manor. He hasn’t brought anything with him, not wine or flowers or whatever it is you give to someone like Draco when you come and have dinner with them.

Draco spots his hesitation and apparently understands the reason for it too. “I’m not inviting you for a five course black tie dinner, Albus. It’s casserole in the kitchen-“

“Mum’s recipe,” Scorpius adds. He’s no longer dancing with excitement but he might as well be because his smile is dazzling, and Albus doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look happier.

“I’m not going to force you to eat with us,” Draco continues. “I just thought it would be nice to spend some time together. A hospital isn’t a good place to get to know someone. You’re supposed to do that around a dinner table.”

Albus is distracted from the mind-blowing and slightly terrifying revelation that Draco wants to get to know him by the sight of Scorpius nodding enthusiastically at him from behind Draco’s shoulder. It’s impossible to say no to Scorpius when he’s like this, and Albus reckons that even if Scorpius weren’t here to lend his enthusiasm to the situation, he might still say yes.

“Alright,” he says with a nod. “I’ll stay. Thank you.”

Draco smiles, a genuine welcoming smile that Albus nervously returns. “Excellent. Scorpius, why don’t you show him round? I’ll sort the- _Carefully_.”

Scorpius has started rushing backwards, beckoning to Albus, and he almost sends an antique-looking, clearly expensive vase flying as he does.

“Whoops!” he says brightly, steadying the vase with a wave of his wand. “Come on Albus. We can start with the library. It’s upstairs.”

He goes racing off, not waiting for Albus, and Draco smiles after him.

“He’s feeling better,” he says, glancing at Albus.

“I noticed.” Albus smiles back at him. “It seems dangerous.”

“He was safer when he was hurt,” Draco agrees, “but I think I prefer him like this. I hope the chance to stretch his legs will mellow him a little. He has far too much energy for this place.”

“Imagine if he was stuck somewhere smaller,” Albus says, glancing around at the cavernous foyer. This house must go on forever.

“I wouldn’t wish that on anyone,” Draco says with a little shudder. “I’ll see you two in the kitchen in a bit. Make sure he doesn’t break anything too valuable.”

Albus grins. “That’s a lot of responsibility.”

“I have faith in you.”

“What do I need to wear for this date?” Scorpius asks, as he rummages through his drawers, throwing clothes out onto the floor.

Albus lies on his back on the bed, rubbing his very full stomach, and watching the chaos unfold. “Whatever you want to wear. There’s no dress code. Although we’ll be setting off before sunrise, so you might want to bring a jumper just in case it’s chilly.”

Scorpius stops emptying his drawers onto the floor and looks at Albus. “We’re setting off before sunrise? Are you capable of getting up that early?”

Albus throws a pillow at his face. “Yes, thank you. I often get up early. It’s the best time to see the world.”

Scorpius catches the pillow and hugs it to his chest. “Are you taking me out flying?” He asks. “Is that what you want to show me?”

Albus shrugs innocently and lies flat on his back so Scorpius can’t see him grinning up at the ceiling. “You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?”

Scorpius throws the pillow back, and it smacks Albus in the face. He grins even more and bats it away.

“So I need something warm,” Scorpius says, “but really I can wear whatever I want... At least I know I won’t need pyjamas. That’s something.”

Albus props himself up on his elbows at that, looking across at Scorpius’s broad, strong back, the t-shirt he’s wearing wrinkling across the expanse of skin and muscle as he moves. “Won’t you?”

“I like to pack light,” Scorpius says without looking round. “And I didn’t get much use out of them last time I stayed.”

Last time Scorpius stayed was almost two weeks ago now. It feels like a lifetime, so much has happened since, but when Albus thinks about it the memory is clear as day. Clear as day and absolutely delicious. That night certainly didn’t involve any pyjamas, or much sleep.

“Maybe you’re right,” Albus says, watching the way Scorpius’s t-shirt clings to him, brushing the skin that Albus knows is so soft beneath. When Scorpius bends forward to inspect a pair of shorts, it pulls up at the back, revealing a thin strip of flesh and the waistband and belt of Scorpius’s jeans. “Packing light is good.”

Scorpius gets to his feet and gathers a couple of shirts off the floor. When he looks at Albus there’s a pale pink flush to his cheeks, and the connection as their eyes meet sears with promise and possibility.

“I’ll be ready to go in a second,” he says, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. “I’ll pack these and say goodbye to my dad, then...”

Albus swallows and sits up, shifting on the bed. “Good. It’s going to be an early start in the morning. We need to get to bed soon.”

Scorpius stands there, the clothes held limply in his hand. He doesn’t look like he’s about to start packing anytime soon, in fact he looks like he wants to surge across the gap between the two of them and start kissing Albus immediately. There’s a dark hunger in his eyes that’s sending thrills running through Albus’s body, and Albus would be perfectly on board with it if Scorpius _did_ start kissing him immediately. But they can’t. Five minutes to say goodbye to Draco and get out of the Manor, then the evening is theirs to do with as they wish.

“Pack,” Albus says, voice a little hoarse. He clears his throat and gets to his feet, picking Scorpius’s bag up from the floor and handing it to him. “Please. Is there anything else you need?”

Scorpius shakes himself and looks around at the chaos that is his bedroom floor. “Um.”

“Toothbrush?” Albus supplies. “Toothpaste. Are you still taking the Painkilling Potions? Don’t forget pants, and socks. My mum always says you should pack a spare pair of pants and socks just in case. What about a book? And your wand. Don’t forget your wand.”

“I definitely haven’t forgotten my wand,” Scorpius says, turning in circles on the spot, dithering and looking lost. “And I might have enough entertainment without a book.”

Albus rolls his eyes and picks a book up from Scorpius’s bedside table at it, thrusting it into his hands. “You’re you. I could be as entertaining as you like and you’d still be lost without a book. I’ll go and get the toothpaste too.”

He moves past Scorpius, but as he does Scorpius catches hold of his arm and pulls him back, drawing him in so they’re facing each other, inches apart.

“Albus,” he breathes, gaze flickering between Albus’s eyes and his lips.

Albus closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Scorpius’s. “Five minutes,” he whispers.

“I missed you.” Scorpius’s breathing is already ragged, and Albus feels Scorpius’s fingers graze across the back of his hand. He opens his eyes and presses a finger to Scorpius’s lips.

“Don’t,” he murmurs. “Five minutes.”

He can almost feel Scorpius’s heart pounding. Their bodies are separated by a few inches of air, inches that seem to stretch for miles. It would be so easy to take hold of Scorpius and reel him in closer, but then they would never manage to part.

There are a few tenuous seconds, in which they’re held in stasis, being pulled together at the same time as willpower holds them apart. Scorpius’s eyes flutter closed and he licks his lips, making them slick and inviting. Albus clenches his fists and uses all his resolve not to steal just one small kiss, because he knows that one small kiss will lead to a thousand longer, more desperate kisses.

After what feels like an eternity of temptation, Scorpius bows his head and steps back, holding the bag and his clothes in both hands like a shield between himself and Albus.

“Five minutes,” he says.

Albus nods and points in the direction of the bathroom. “Toothpaste.”

It’s a miracle that they manage to pack Scorpius’s bag, say goodbye to Draco, and get out of the Manor, but they do manage it. They Floo to Albus’s, Albus arriving first in a cloud of ash, only just managing to get out of the way before Scorpius sprawls onto the hearth rug behind him.

The instant Scorpius manages to scramble to his feet, he tosses his bag onto the sofa, brushes the ash from his hair, and looks at Albus. It’s the same searing look they shared before only now it burns even brighter, because this time there’s nothing holding them back.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Scorpius says, with a resolute certainty that makes Albus’s stomach swoop.

“Yes please,” Albus replies, reaching out to him.

Scorpius doesn’t waste another second. He throws himself across the room into Albus’s arms and kisses him hard, pressing his body tight to Albus’s. Albus whimpers into the kiss and wraps his arms round Scorpius’s waist, pulling him closer, trying to find more firm friction to rock against.

“Albus,” Scorpius gasps.

“Yes,” is all Albus can say as he gets Scorpius’s thigh between his legs and rests there, hands in Scorpius’s hair, kissing him open mouthed and messy.

“Four days.” Scorpius runs his hands down Albus’s back and over his ass, caressing and squeezing. “Far too long.”

“You managed... seven years... before,” Albus gasps, almost too breathless to speak.

Scorpius shakes his head. “Too long. Shut up and kiss me.”

Albus obliges. He lets Scorpius reel him in again, one hand on his ass, the other firm on the small of his back, holding him tight. The kiss is soft, somehow still sweet even though they’re both burning with desperation, twin suns, too hot to exist side by side, the gravitational pull between them tearing them both apart.

“Oh,” Scorpius murmurs when they part for a moment. He nudges his nose against Albus’s and moves his hand up to cup Albus’s cheek.

“Scorpius,” Albus breathes.

“I want you in me,” Scorpius says, stroking a finger over Albus’s temple to swipe away a bead of sweat caused by the scorching heat of the fire behind them. “I want you to- to fill me up. Fuck me.”

Albus can feel Scorpius’s chest rising and falling against his own, and he imagines what it would be like to be part of him. It would be a lie to say he hasn’t thought about it: Scorpius’s tight heat surrounding him, every adjustment and movement, every breath, exacerbated by being inside him. He’s dreamed about it more than once recently, and he wants it. He wants that dream to become a reality, especially if Scorpius wants it too.

“You’re sure?” Albus asks, pulling away an inch to look at him properly, his whole body mourning the loss of contact. He knows that Scorpius hasn’t done this before, and if they’re going to do it then they’re doing it right.

“Positive,” Scorpius says with a nod.

Albus slides a hand down Scorpius’s arm and tangles their fingers together. “Let’s go up to bed.”

Scorpius beams at him with kiss-bruised lips. “Finally.”

They make it up to Albus’s room, minus a few clothes. Scorpius peels Albus’s shirt off as they’re going up the stairs and leaves it abandoned there as he presses Albus against the wall and kisses him hard. Albus is on the step above Scorpius so they’re perfectly level, and Albus grips Scorpius’s shirt in both hands and presses into the unfamiliar angle of the kiss. When Scorpius’s fingertips brush over his stomach and make him gasp in a breath he pulls back, ruffling his fingers through Scorpius’s hair.

“I thought we were going upstairs.”

Scorpius smiles up at him, eyes bright. “I know, but look at you.”

Albus trails his hand down the back of Scorpius’s neck. “Look at you too.” He winds a soft wisp of pale hair around his forefinger, and Scorpius shivers, smile widening.

“I really have missed you this week,” Scorpius say, resting his hands on Albus’s hips. “I know I needed to recover, but...” He shakes his head, gaze roving over every inch of Albus’s body. “I had to live without all this.”

Albus smirks at him. “It’s nice to know that all Sev’s hard work is appreciated.”

“Very much,” Scorpius says, running his hands round the top of Albus’s belt until he reaches the buckle and starts picking at it. “Very very much appreciated.”

Albus rests his hands on Scorpius’s shoulders and watches as Scorpius unbuckles the belt, unbuttons his jeans, and unzips the fly. “If you try to take those off here you know we’re going to end up falling down the- oh Merlin oh fuck, Scorpius.” He grips Scorpius’s shoulders for support as Scorpius plunges a hand inside his pants and takes a solid, confident grip on his cock, making his knees buckle.

“We’re going to end up falling down the ‘oh Merlin oh fuck, Scorpius’, are we?” Scorpius asks, voice light with amusement. “I’ve never heard the stairs called that before.”

Albus punches him feebly on the arm, trying not to fall apart completely as Scorpius strokes his fingers teasingly, gently over his cock.

“You know what I mean, you-“ He draws in a shaky breath and rests his forehead on Scorpius’s shoulder. “ _You_. I love you.”

Scorpius presses a soft kiss to his cheek and swipes his thumb over the wet tip of Albus’s cock, making him tremble. “I love you too. Endlessly.”

Albus swallows, gripping Scorpius’s arms, trying to steady his pounding heart. He could come right here, right now, still mostly clothed, with just the steady, solid movement of Scorpius’s hand, but he doesn’t want that. He wants to come deep inside Scorpius, surrounded by slick heat and contracting muscle. He wants to feel every minute detail of Scorpius’s pleasure.

“I want to fuck you,” he says, wrapping his fingers round Scorpius’s wrist and pulling his hand away. “Let me wait, let me...” He takes a deep, steadying breath and kisses Scorpius softly on his parted lips. “Come on, beautiful. Bed.”

He reaches for Scorpius’s hand, and Scorpius nods and lets him take it. Scorpius’s fingers are slightly sticky and wet, and Albus is seized with the overwhelming urge to lick them clean, wanting to taste himself on Scorpius’s skin. But he doesn’t, he just squeezes Scorpius’s hand tighter and draws him up the last few steps, down the landing, and through into the master bedroom with its view of the city, spread out and sparkling below.

Albus drops Scorpius’s hand and goes over to close the curtains, to shut the world out and make it just the two of them, but Scorpius follows him and stops him.

“Leave them open,” he says, closing his hand over Albus’s. “No one can see in, and it’s beautiful. Look at the lights, and the stars.”

Albus doesn’t look but he doesn’t need to. He can see the golden glow of the city lighting Scorpius’s face and gleaming in his eyes. His expression as he looks out is soft and warm. Albus wishes he could see the city through Scorpius’s eyes, with his perpetual enthusiasm and way of seeing the magic in everything. It must be enchanting. Everything Scorpius comes in contact with is enchanting. He makes it that way.

“Can I take your shirt off?” Albus asks, brushing his hands down Scorpius’s sides.

Scorpius stops looking at the city and turns his gaze to Albus. He looks uncertain all of sudden, his arms crossing loosely across his body, blocking Albus out. “Yes. Yes, but...” His shoulders hunch and he bows his head. “You need to know that those injuries I got, the cuts, they-“

Albus gently takes hold of his wrists, sliding down to his hands. “Scorpius, if I had a problem with scars I’d be in real trouble. Look at me.” He shifts his arms, letting Scorpius get a clear look a them. “Can I see?”

Scorpius sighs and drops his head forward, nodding as he relaxes his arms. He brushes Albus’s hands away and pulls his own shirt off, dragging it over his head and making a mess of his hair. Only when it falls onto the floor does Albus really get to see the damage.

There are three long, red marks across his torso. They look jagged and ugly, slashes made with no care, just a desire to hurt and hurt badly. They’ve clearly been well healed, starting to head towards pink now they’re knitted together with soft scar tissue, but they’re still there. A painful reminder of what Scorpius has been through.

“Will they ever-“

“Go away?” Scorpius shakes his head. “No. The Healers said it was a spell called Sectumsempra that made them. My um, my dad was hurt once when he was younger with the same spell. He still has his scars.”

Albus runs his fingers gently over them, tracing each of the marks carefully. Scorpius shivers and watches his progress.

“That tickles.”

“You think everything tickles,” Albus says, but he stops and spreads his hand across Scorpius’s skin, trying to touch all the scars at once. He lifts his head and looks Scorpius right in the eye. “You’re beautiful. The scars are just part of your story. Our story. Another thing you’ve survived, and you’ve survived so much.”

Scorpius covers Albus’s hand with his own, matching the spread of his fingers across all three stark lines. “Now we match. Maybe I should get tattoos on mine too.”

Albus grins. “I might not survive you getting a tattoo, but you could if you wanted to.”

Scorpius smiles at him. “I’ll think about it. But now.” He picks Albus’s hand up off his stomach and interlocks his fingers between Albus’s. “Please fuck me.”

Albus squeezes Scorpius’s hand. “With pleasure.”

They both shed the rest of their clothes, and Scorpius lies on the bed, Albus straddling his hips and holding his hand. Scorpius’s breathing is shallow and shaky with nervous excitement, and the butterflies in Albus’s stomach aren’t just from arousal either.

“Right,” he says softly, trying to sound more confident than he feels. He should be confident. He’s done this so many times. It’s just never meant this much before.

He nudges the inside of Scorpius’s thigh, encouraging him to spread his legs. “Relax. As much as you can. Tell me how it feels. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Scorpius nods and licks his lips, letting his knees drop sideways, further exposing himself.

Albus draws his wand and starts casting spells for protection and lubrication. Of all the spells for him to be good at, it had to be these ones. He’s had plenty of practice at them, but today it takes him a couple of attempts to get them to work. He double checks the one for protection, just to make sure, then he slides up the bed and begins to open Scorpius up, one finger at a time.

Scorpius is tense, clenched tight around him, and Albus gently strokes his inner thigh with trembling fingers.

“Relax,” he murmurs.

“You’re shaking,” Scorpius replies, lifting his head and looking at Albus. “You’re shaking and you’ve done this before.”

Albus swallows and meets his eyes. “It’s different now,” he says. “With you. I want to get it right. It’s a lot of... of responsibility.” He bows his head. “You’re the first one I’ve ever cared about.”

Scorpius exhales and Albus feels the tight clench of his muscles release. Gently, Albus shifts his two fingers, starting to work Scorpius open. At the moment getting him loose enough to take a cock feels like an impossibility, but Albus knows from experience that with time and patience anything can happen.

“Sometimes,” he murmurs, “sometimes I would close my eyes and imagine they were you.” He keeps his eyes on his fingers as he works them in and out of Scorpius, testing angles, trying to find the right spots, wanting to solve the puzzle of him and learn how to make this feel the best it can.

“Did- did you?” Scorpius asks, clenching his fists and shifting to try and get comfortable.

Albus nods. “I only ever wanted you. But Delphi told me I should move on, that I’d never have you back. She said I could be happy with someone else, anyone else, that I should try it. So I did.” He looks up at Scorpius who is looking curiously down at him, head lifted off the pillow.

“I was never happy,” Albus goes on, looking at him. “It felt okay. It felt _good_. It, um, it felt nice to feel wanted. Sev was vastly more attractive than Albus. But it never meant anything. A-and I never let anyone fuck me before you did.”

“What does it mean now?” Scorpius asks, lifting himself up on his elbows so he can see Albus better.

“Everything,” Albus says without a second’s hesitation. “It means I have you, it means I don’t have to pretend anymore, it means I love you. I-it means I’m home.”

Scorpius sits up and reaches for him. “Come here.”

Albus pulls his fingers out and scrambles up the bed to kiss him. Their bodies press together, and they both sigh as they wrap their arms round each other. Scorpius’s lips part, and Albus closes his eyes and explores the warmth of his mouth, the soft welcome of his tongue, the slickness of his swollen lips.

Scorpius rocks his hips against Albus’s and they both gasp. Their bodies fall into rhythm together, moving and shifting, keeping tempo with the beat of their hearts. They share breath and touch, and when Scorpius wraps his legs round Albus’s waist to draw him closer, Albus reaches down and presses his fingers into Scorpius’s ass, making him moan and squirm.

“Albus,” he whimpers, digging his fingertips into Albus’s back.

“Alright?” Albus asks, because it’s all he has breath to say.

Scorpius nods and gives an experimental shift of hips. When Albus’s fingers slip deeper into him he gasps, head falling back, mouth open, eyes shut.

“Good,” Albus murmurs, kissing the long, pale, sinewy expanse of Scorpius’s neck.

They keep going, their bodies practicing a duet. The rhythm between them gets sharper. The tempo of their movements increases as they become more confident. Albus stretches Scorpius open and finds the spots that make his hips stutter and his breath run ragged. He’s learning, mastering Scorpius’s body, discovering how to make him sing.

“I-I’m ready,” Scorpius gasps finally, as Albus strokes a hand down the length of his cock, making his hips snap up and then back, grinding onto Albus’s fingers. “Please, Albus. Please.”

He’s been ready for a while and Albus knows it. The problem is that Albus is wound too tight. The sight of Scorpius’s flushed cheeks, fluttering eyelashes, and slick, red lips is almost too much. It doesn’t help that they’ve been rocking together, hard cocks pressed between them, pre-come and lube making everything almost too wet to get any real friction, but even the easy slide and press of Scorpius’s body has been enough. If he felt Scorpius’s body around him now, he might come on the spot, and after all this work he doesn’t want to disappoint like that.

“I know,” he says softly, taking hold of Scorpius’s hand and kissing his fingertips while he tries to catch his breath, stalling for time. “I know. I just need a second.”

Scorpius opens his eyes, and as dark as they are with desperate lust, there’s a soft concern there too. “Are you okay?”

Albus smiles at him. “Very. I’m wonderful. Almost too good.” He rests his forehead on Scorpius’s shoulder and pushes himself onto his knees, lifting his body so he can’t feel Scorpius’s taught muscles, hot skin, and rapidly beating heart anymore.

Scorpius runs his fingers over Albus’s ribs, making his diaphragm contract, and Albus catches hold of his hand and removes it.

“Not for a moment,” he murmurs. “Let me catch my breath.”

He sits up, straddling Scorpius’s thighs. He’s still wound up too tight. Scorpius makes him this way, driving him to the edge of insanity in ways no one else can. With anyone else this wouldn’t be a problem, but Scorpius isn’t anyone else. He’s Scorpius. He’s the manifestation of all Albus’s wildest dreams. Flesh and bone and blood. So real. So good. Beyond imagination.

“Alright,” Albus says finally. “I-I think I’m ready. You have to tell me if it feels okay.”

“It will,” Scorpius says confidently, lifting a hand for Albus to take.

Albus interlocks their fingers, kisses Scorpius’s knuckles, then carefully lines himself up and inches his way inside Scorpius.

It’s almost too much. Scorpius is painfully tight, and when he wriggles to try and get comfortable Albus feels every tiny movement of his body, amplified a hundredfold by the sensitivity of his impossibly hard cock.

“Stop,” Scorpius hisses through gritted teeth, his face screwed up tight, and Albus is only too glad to do so. He squeezes Scorpius’s hand tight and waits, taking deep, steady breaths and trying to process the overwhelming rush of sensation coming at him and exploding inside his brain like fireworks.

“Relax,” Albus murmurs, for both their benefit, and he trails his free hand the length of Scorpius’s cock, swiping his thumb over the end and making Scorpius inhale sharply. A moment later the tight squeeze of Scorpius’s muscles begins to release, and Albus presses in further when Scorpius gives him the nod.

It takes several hesitant minutes before Albus is buried in Scorpius as deep as he thinks either of them can manage. Scorpius has his head thrown back on the pillow, back arched, trying to catch his breath, fingers gripping Albus’s so tightly that Albus thinks he might leave bruises.

“Tell me when I can-“ he starts, but Scorpius doesn’t hesitate.

“Move,” he says. “Please. I can’t- I can’t stand it.” So Albus does.

He’s part of Scorpius now. He can feel every shudder of Scorpius’s breath, the pounding of his heart. Whenever Scorpius makes a sound, be it whimper or groan or anything else, it sends vibrations through his whole body, through Albus’s whole body. The flex of Scorpius’s muscles, powerful and solid, is too much to bear, and when Scorpius rolls his hips to take more of Albus inside himself, Albus loses himself, brain awash with a white noise of sensation and emotion.

He’s aware of Scorpius saying something, encouraging him to go harder and faster, but vocabulary is beyond him now. Human communication got left behind when he fell into this visceral, raw world of sinew and hot blood and semen.

Through the haze of noise ringing in his ears he can vaguely hear his own voice. Those might be words he’s saying, or they might just be sounds, a babbling string of something inhuman, made of raw emotion.

Emotion is the one thing he does know. Joy. He feels joyful. His body is singing, sparkling with life and pleasure and need. He loves. Loves Scorpius. Loves this. Loves everything right now.

He moves. He has the power and strength of an athlete, Sev’s power and strength. One arm strains to hold him up. His other hand is closed around Scorpius’s hand which in turn is wrapped around Scorpius’s cock. As Albus slams into him, driving harder and harder, winding himself up, he’s aware of Scorpius’s feet scrabbling desperately on the bed for purchase.

Scorpius’s white blond hair is spread across the pillow in a glorious flaxen cloud as he arches his back, trying to get more and closer, pressing his head hard into the pillow to lever him up further. Those swollen lips are wide open in a silent scream of pleasure, eyes pressed closed. The look on his face is one of sheer ecstasy, and that drives Albus on. If Scorpius wants more, if this feels as good for him as it does for Albus, then Albus will give everything he’s got.

“Yes,” Scorpius gasps, high pitched and breathless. “Yes, yes, yes. Albus. Come on. More. Please.”

Every word that tumbles out of him is in time with the snap of Albus’s hips, and Albus locks onto that rhythm, pushing deeper, extracting more words, more praise, on and on.

“I love you,” Scorpius pants, gripping one of Albus’s shoulders like he hopes that holding on tight enough will stop him being torn apart by it all. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I- Oh Merlin. Oh.” His rhythm breaks. His breath stutters. The hand wrapped around his cock squeezes tight, and Albus squeezes with him, finally regaining his powers of speech.

“Come on, Scorpius,” he groans. “Come on. You can do this. You can-“

“I’m going to-“

Scorpius breaks off with a high-pitched whimper as he comes, streaking both his and Albus’s stomachs and spilling over their hands. As he does his body squeezes around Albus and it’s too much. Finally all the building, desperate tension inside Albus releases and his hips stutter as he comes too.

He lets out a sob of relief and the tide of pleasure sweeps him away. Everything is white hot sensation, the silver of stars and gold of city lights. He can feel Scorpius’s body squeezing around him, and it’s too much, but it’s beyond him to do anything about it.

When he comes to, what must be an eternity later, he realises that Scorpius is panting beneath him and that his cock is now painfully sensitive. It hurts to still be inside Scorpius, so he rolls to the side, slipping out, and lies on his back, an arm thrown over his eyes, trying to gather himself back together.

It’s Scorpius who recovers first. He rolls onto his side and brushes a finger over Albus’s lips. Albus tastes the salty tang of come and opens his eyes to see Scorpius hovering inches away from him.

Albus doesn’t have the breath to speak, but he reaches one heavy arm up and touches Scorpius’s cheek, then he leans up and kisses him very softly. Scorpius whimpers at the touch, but doesn’t pull away. He kisses back for a moment, then he curls up with his head on Albus’s shoulder, and runs one finger over Albus’s stomach.

He looks wrecked. His hair is all over the place, his eyes are dark and his eyelids keep fluttering closed like he’s beset by exhaustion. His lips look painfully swollen and bruised. There’s one dark bruise on his jaw too, and another on his neck. And despite, or maybe because of, all of that, he’s never looked more beautiful. He looks like sex. He looks like love. And Albus has to swallow hard several times to stop himself bursting into tears of joy.

“You,” he says in a shaky whisper.

“You,” Scorpius replies, and he breaks into a wide grin.

“Was that okay?”

Scorpius nods and his grin widens, the corners of his eyes going all crinkled. “That was perfect. I love you. So much.”

Albus’s heart soars, and a grin to match Scorpius’s spreads across his face.

“Good.”

It takes a while for them to gather themselves together enough to get into the shower, but they eventually make it, and it’s rewarding when they do. They exchange long, lazy kisses as the hot water drums down on their heads, plastering their hair to their heads and making everything taste watery and clean.

When they get out of the shower, Scorpius curls up in bed and gathers all the blankets around himself. He’s shivering, goosebumps standing up on his arms and legs, and Albus feels a bit guilty because he’s the reason Scorpius doesn’t have any pyjamas to put on so he can warm up.

“Do you want to borrow a top?” He asks, hovering anxiously by the side of the bed.

Scorpius shakes his head and reaches a hand out to Albus. “You’re enough. Come and warm me up.”

Albus hesitates, wondering if he should get a top anyway and leave it next to the bed just in case, but then Scorpius manages to catch hold of his fingers and tug insistently on his arm, pulling him closer. Albus sighs and lets himself be reeled in.

“Better.” Scorpius gives him a sleepy smile and settles against him, hugging one of his arms, head resting on his chest.

Albus presses a kiss into his hair and wraps an arm round his back, holding him tight. He can feel Scorpius relaxing, the tension in his muscles loosening, his breathing going slow and calm. It makes him tingle all over, because he knows now how all that would feel from the inside.

Part of him has become part of Scorpius. He’s so attuned to Scorpius’s every tiny movement now that it’s like they’re one person. They’re entwined, bodies, lives, futures. It’s so overwhelming that Albus can hardly catch his breath.

He’s never felt like this about anyone before. In the past, sex has always been just that. Sometimes fun, a release of energy and tension, something that he can pour his body into without it requiring any thought or emotion. Most of the people he’s slept with have been nameless to him, skinny blond boys who were a close enough fit to his imagination that he could play out his fantasies. But this evening... this evening it was real, and now Albus suspects that he’ll never quite be the same again.

“You’re thinking,” Scorpius mumbles, his breath ghosting across Albus’s chest and making him shiver. “What are you thinking about?”

Albus looks down at him, at his bleary eyes and damp hair that shines gold in the light from the bedside lamps. “You.”

“Hmm,” Scorpius says, burrowing his head into a more comfortable position on Albus’s chest. “Well you’re doing it very loudly.”

Albus smiles. “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

Albus ruffles his hair and kisses his temple. “You’re special,” he says. “That’s all I was thinking. I want you in my life forever.”

Scorpius pats him gently on the stomach. “Three weeks is too soon for a marriage proposal. My dad might kill you.”

Albus sighs. “I’m not proposing. I’m just saying. I... I know. I _already_ know. That this is different. Good different. Forever different. At least it is for me.” He falls silent, stroking his thumb over the soft skin of Scorpius’s shoulder and hoping he hasn’t said too much. He doesn’t want to overstep the mark and ruin everything.

He’s just considering whether to apologise and try to backtrack when Scorpius opens his eyes and looks right at him. It’s not searing like the looks from earlier. It’s warm and full of some sort of indescribable emotion that fills Albus to the brim and overwhelms him. For the third time that day he feels like he might burst into tears if he doesn’t work very hard to control himself.

“I know,” Scorpius murmurs. “I know too. That I want this forever. _You_ forever. I-I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

It was only three weeks ago, but Albus can barely remember how he lived before Scorpius found him. He knows it was empty, focused on racing, on Delphi. There was so little to keep going for. But now he has everything: his family, his best friend – the love of his life. Now life is worth living, and Albus is filled with a satisfied glow of happiness.

He can’t manage to hold the tears back anymore. They flood his vision, making Scorpius into an indistinct blur of silver hair and pale skin. As he ducks his head to try and hide his tears, one dribbles down his cheek and drips off his chin, landing on Scorpius’s arm.

“Sorry. Sorry.” He swipes it away then squeezes his eyes shut and tries to wipe his wet cheeks. His shoulders shake and he buries his face in Scorpius’s hair.

Scorpius twists round to hug him round the waist. “Why are you crying? Are you alright?”

Albus nods, sniffling and wiping his eyes again. “Fine. I’m okay. I’m sorry, I-“ He opens his eyes and looks at the blurry outline of Scorpius. “I’m happy. I didn’t much like my life without you in it either. I love you.” He has one last go at wiping his eyes and manages to clear enough tears that he can see Scorpius’s face, so he reaches out and grazes his fingers along Scorpius’s jaw, then leans in and kisses him.

It’s a slightly soggy kiss, thanks to all the tears, but Scorpius doesn’t seem to mind. He ruffles his fingers through Albus’s hair and sucks gently on his lower lip. Albus’s breath catches and stutters, and he grips Scorpius tightly. He never wants to let him go.

They don’t talk much more after that; there’s not much they need to say. Anything that needs to be expressed between them is said with a kiss or a touch. There’s none of the heat and desperation of sex in what they share now, they don’t need that. Instead it’s lazy and exploratory, gentle and full of love.

After almost half an hour, Scorpius withdraws his hand from Albus’s hip, where it’s been resting, and wraps both arms round his neck as he nuzzles his face into his shoulder.

“Time to sleep,” he mumbles. “Early start tomorrow.”

“Very early,” Albus says, curling the wispy golden strands at the base of Scorpius’s neck around his fingers.

“How early?”

“Before dawn. I’ve set an alarm.”

Scorpius groans. “We could just stay in bed all day.”

Albus smiles. “We could, but I think you’ll like this. And if we miss it we’ll have to wait a whole year.”

Scorpius lifts his head and opens one eye. “What are you up to?”

“That would be telling,” Albus says, tapping a finger on the end of Scorpius’s nose.

Scorpius groans and hides his face again. “Mean. Alright. I’m sleeping now.”

Albus grins and snuggles down beside him, enjoying Scorpius’s warm weight and gentle breathing against his body. It’s warm and comforting, and so intimate that it makes his heart sing.

“Sleep well, beautiful,” he murmurs.

“Mmm,” Scorpius replies. “You too.”

Albus doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have done so because the next thing he knows the alarm he’s set is chirping at him, and his whole body is fizzing with the adrenaline of such a rude awakening.

“No,” Scorpius moans next to him, hiding his head under the pillow.

Albus sits up and silences the alarm. He’s exhausted but he can’t help but grin. He’s been waiting for this day for years, and now it’s finally here. Scorpius is with him, and it’s going to be wonderful.

He gently tickles Scorpius’s side, and Scorpius groans and bats his hand away, squirming.

“Stop it. Let me sleep.” Every word he says is a drawn out complaint, childlike, and actually rather adorable.

“No,” Albus replies, drawing his word out too, and swooping down to kiss Scorpius on the cheek. “Come on. We have to get up. Look, I’ll even get your bag for you.”

He draws his wand and casts a perfect Summoning Charm on his first attempt. The bag zooms up the stairs and into the room, and Albus catches it, beaming. This is going to be an excellent day.

Albus has never struggled to coax Scorpius out of bed before, but this morning it’s very difficult. Normally it’s the opposite way round, and Albus hasn’t learned any coping strategies for a sleepy Scorpius. He doesn’t want to resort to kissing him awake because then they’ll definitely be late.

Instead he does absolutely everything for Scorpius, helping him dress, combing the tangles out of his hair, even handing him a thermos of tea for the flight.

“Don’t forget to put the jumper on,” he says as he hops around, trying to wriggle into a pair of tight jeans. “It’ll be cold.”

Scorpius summons his shoes to him with a tired twitch of his wand and nods, rubbing his eyes. “‘Kay.”

Albus pulls a jacket on over his t-shirt and zips it up, then he picks his broom up and slides the window open. Even just holding the broom as the wind brushes through his hair is thrilling. It’s been over a week since he last flew and he really misses it. After so long of doing it every day it feels like he’s missing a part of himself not to do it. He’s excited to get back into the air, especially since this time, for the first time ever, he’ll have Scorpius with him.

“Is there a second broom?” Scorpius asks, hugging his own jacket tight round his body and coming over to stand next to Albus in front of the window.

Albus looks at him. “I... I was hoping you would fly with me. Is that okay?”

Scorpius frowns. “But you fly so...”

Albus can see dozens of words whirling through his brain. Exuberantly. Recklessly. Dangerously. Adventurously.

“Fast,” Scorpius says finally.

“I’ll be good?” Albus says. “And very careful. No loop-the-loops, or-“

“Please. Not before breakfast.”

Albus looks him right in the eye. “Do you trust me? I promise I’ll take very good care of you. Of both of us. I promised your dad.”

Still Albus can see doubt there. He guesses that watching him fly must be a far more appealing prospect than flying with him. The sort of flying he does during races isn’t for the faint of heart, and while Scorpius is one of the bravest people he’s met, there are different sorts of bravery. The bravery needed for flying like that is idiotic and bold. Scorpius’s bravery is far more sensible.

“I can get a second broom if you-“

“No,” Scorpius says suddenly. He steps forward and puts a hand on the tail of Albus’s broom. “No, it’s okay. I want to. I trust you.”

“You’re sure?”

Scorpius nods. “Very. Anyway, if I’m holding onto you I can have a nap.”

“If you fall off your dad will never forgive me. Even if it’s not my fault. Please don’t fall asleep.”

Scorpius considers for a moment, then sighs. “Fine. But I might rest my eyes.” He grins and hops onto the broom, holding his arms out and patting the handle in front of him. “Come on.”

Apparently Scorpius has finally woken up. He’s clutching his thermos flask of tea and the caffeine must be doing him some good because he’s gone all sparkly and mischievous. Albus wants to lecture him again about holding on tight and not falling asleep, but he reasons that Scorpius is probably sensible enough when it comes down to it that he doesn’t need it. Instead, Albus hops onto the broom, and grins as he feels the warm, sold press of Scorpius’s body behind him, and Scorpius’s arms wrap tightly round his waist.

“At least you’re short,” Scorpius says, resting his chin on Albus’s shoulder. “I can see past you. If you were tall this would be a pretty boring flight.”

“Are you calling me boring?” Albus asks as he kicks off from the bedroom floor and zooms through the window into the dark sky.

“No, not at all. It’s just nice to see the view. I mean look.” He gestures around them, and Albus grins as he obeys.

The city is spread out below, the roads winding over the hill and down to the river like ribbons of gold. As they pass over the dark expanse of water, visible only where the reflections of the lights glitter on the black surface, Albus looks to the side and sees the gorge and the suspension bridge looming in the distance.

Flying at night is like being let in on a secret. Everything is unseen. It’s just them and the mystery of the night. A few goods lorries sweep down the roads, a security guard shuffles in his booth by the dockside, but that’s it. They’re part of a select group invited to hold this still, sleepy covenant.

“Do you fly at night often?” Scorpius murmurs, still gazing in wonder down at the world below.

“Sometimes,” Albus replies. “I like to get up early and fly at sunrise.”

“Is that what we’re doing now?” Scorpius asks, adjusting his hands on Albus’s chest so he’s holding him more securely.

Albus grins and twists round to glance back at him. “We’re going to watch a very special sunrise. Do you know what day it is?”

Scorpius frowns. “It’s too early for general knowledge questions. Should I know?”

“Not necessarily.”

“I feel like I ought to though,” Scorpius says. “If you’re asking me...” His frown deepens and he looks stressed, so Albus takes pity on him.

“Today is the summer solstice,” he says. “We’re going to watch the sun rise on the longest day of the year. How does that sound?”

Scorpius’s frown melts away to be replaced by a broad smile. “It sounds beautiful.” He leans forward and kisses Albus on the cheek. “Are we going anywhere in particular?”

Albus nods. “You’ll see.”

They soar up over the hills. Dark lakes reflect the stars up at them as they pass, and Scorpius grips Albus’s waist and leans down so he can see himself in the surface of the water. Forests flash beneath them too, and rolling fields that in daylight would be a patchwork of green and yellow and gold.

To every side, beyond the hills, a vast expanse of flat land spreads. It looks like a sea, and the tiny villages lost among it are oil rigs or islands, gleaming with life and inhabitants among the darkness.

It’s very chilly, even though it’s summer. Scorpius shivers and hugs Albus tighter for warmth as they begin to descend from the hills. Albus’s fingers are going numb and rigid as they clasp the broom handle. Across the levels below, a gentle mist has rolled in, hanging over the villages and fields, making everything look and feel simultaneously pristine and ancient.

The air thrums with the magic of this place, of the raw power of the land, of ancient history and the great wizards and witches who walked here. On a morning like this it feels more potent than usual, and Albus can’t tell if it’s the chilly breeze making the chairs on his arms stand up or the buzz of power in the air.

The sky is beginning to pale to the east. The deep midnight blue turns to vibrant turquoise and then to silvery grey.

Scorpius glances up at it. “Are we going to be late?”

Albus shakes his head. “No, we’re nearly there. Look.”

He lifts a frozen hand off his broom and points. Behind him, Scorpius gasps.

There, rising from the levels all around it, floating like an island or a ship among the sea of mist, is the hill, with the ruined church tower rising up from the very top. The slopes are littered with people, sitting or standing in the long grass, all gazing in the direction of the sunrise.

As they fly closer Albus can hear the distant beat of a drum, a steady rhythm like a heartbeat, that captures and lifts the expectant energy of the scene. There’s a gong too, the deep, silvery sound rippling down the sides of the hill and out into the chill air beyond. Over the top of it all, soft voices are singing in harmony, a chant that Albus can’t make out from this far away, but which sounds like some sort of hymn to the rising sun.

Albus might have expected for the music to break the peace and stillness of the vigil, but for some reason it doesn’t. The charged expectancy mingles with a contented, patient sense of hope, and somehow the two interweave into a watch that is calm and yet brimming over with anticipation. It’s so contradictory, but at the same time it makes perfect sense. Albus doesn’t understand that, but he doesn’t really want or need to. He’s happy to just hang in the air and watch the clouds turn vibrant pink as the fields of the levels are bathed in the first of the heather grey dawn light.

“This is beautiful,” Scorpius murmurs, and Albus nods in agreement.

“It really is.”

“How long until sunrise?” Scorpius asks. “I didn’t bring a watch.”

Albus glances down at the one on his wrist, the one his parents gave him that he’s begun to wear regularly, more because it’s useful than because of sentiment, although really it’s a little bit of both. “Not long. Maybe five minutes?”

“Alright.”

Scorpius extracts the thermos flask from one of his jacket pockets – they’re so cavernous that Albus is certain there must be an Undetectable Extension Charm on them. No one’s pockets are that big.

“Do you want tea?” He asks, as he settles himself down.

“No thanks. I’ll wait for coffee.”

“You brought coffee too?” Scorpius asks, handing Albus his cup to hold while he screws the lid back on the thermos and tucks it safely away in his pocket.

Albus twists round to give him a smile. “Of course. I have a whole picnic. That’s what the broom bags are for.” He’d put them on yesterday before he went to pick Scorpius up, a pair of bags that sit just above the tail of the broom. It hadn’t enjoyed being weighed down with them, and he’d had to do some considerable persuasion, but they’d got there in the end.

“Oh!” Scorpius kicks his feet happily back and forth as he takes his tea cup back from Albus. “I did wonder.”

“I thought we could land and eat, and then maybe go for a wander round the town or something. I didn’t exactly have a plan beyond sunrise and breakfast...”

“Not having a plan is good,” Scorpius says, sipping his tea. “It leaves us open to possibility and spontaneity.”

Albus grins. “It does.”

They lapse into silence for a bit after that, Scorpius absorbed with drinking his tea and Albus gazing out at the sunrise. There’s no need to say anything. They’re sharing something intimate just by being together, their time, their space, their thoughts. It’s comfortable and peaceful, and it gives Albus time to enjoy the moments where Scorpius’s hand grazes his back or he feels the soft brush of his breath.

Above the levels, the sky begins to glow brightly. The streaks of cloud are bursting with golden light now, and the sky has gone blue and purple and fiery orange as the sun breaks the horizon.

Below, a few people applaud, welcoming the new-born sun up into the world. The music crescendos, gong still ringing out. The drum beats become faster, celebratory rather than watchful, and at the top of the hill, a handful of people, including a little girl have got up to dance in the shade of the tower.

“So this is where you’ve been for the past seven years,” Scorpius murmurs, his breath tickling Albus’s ear as he rests his chin on his shoulder. “This is what you’ve been doing. Up here, watching things like this.”

“Not always,” Albus replies, resting one hand over Scorpius’s when Scorpius puts an arm round him and settles a hand on his stomach. “It wasn’t all this nice. But the stuff like this made it all worth it.” He leans back against Scorpius’s chest. “I like this. Seeing things from above. No one knows you’re watching. You can just hang here and see things, see the world. It gives you perspective on people. We can sometimes be extraordinary creatures.”

“You’re an extraordinary creature,” Scorpius says, pressing a kiss just below his ear.

Albus smiles. “You too.” He twists round to look at Scorpius. “I... I always wanted to show you this. And other things too. There’s a balloon festival, thousands of hot air balloons every morning; they’re beautiful to fly with. Sunrises, sunsets, the gorge I train down, the river, the sea... It’s so easy to explore up here. I want to show you everything. I always have.”

Scorpius looks back at him, eyes shining bright in the glow of the newly risen sun. “We’re going to have to go on a lot of dates then, aren’t we?”

Albus beams and kisses him.

They stay there, hovering by the Tor, watching as the crowd slowly swells, listening to the drumming and chanting, and enjoying how vibrant the gathering feels. But after a while, Scorpius’s stomach starts to rumble, loud enough for Albus to hear it. He glances back at Scorpius with raised eyebrows, and Scorpius gives a sheepish grin.

“Breakfast time?” He asks.

“Apparently so.”

They set off flying again, heading for the location Albus has picked out for breakfast. It’s not far across the levels, back towards the hills. There’s a city that’s barely more than a small town, with cobbled, ancient streets and a castle surrounded by a moat. They soar down and land on top of the cathedral tower, and Scorpius hops off and rushes to the side, staring down at the view.

“This is beautiful. You pick the best places for a date.”

Albus grins and gives a little bow with a flourish. “What can I say? I’m just that romantic.”

Scorpius snorts. “You’re certainly something. What have we got for breakfast?”

Albus unpacks the bread first – an enormous fluffy loaf, fresh from his favourite bakery – because he knows it will take Scorpius a while to get over his delight with it. He’s not disappointed. The second he sets it down on the blanket, Scorpius leans in and starts sniffing it, poking at the crust, and generally admiring it. That gives Albus time to unpack everything else, the jam and curd and chocolate spread, the cheese, the boiled eggs, and the fruit salad.

“Merlin,” Scorpius breathes in sheer amazement when he looks up from the bread for long enough to see everything else. “Maybe you should have proposed to me last night after all, and maybe I should have accepted. You’re perfect.”

Albus feels his cheeks glow, and he grins as he flops down on the edge of the blanket. “I’m glad you like it.”

“The way to a boy’s heart is bread,” Scorpius says, “and all the rest of- Did you bring Pepper Imps too?” He looks up at Albus with shining eyes. “I’m serious, marry me.”

Albus ducks his head, embarrassed and thrilled in equal measure. “How about we eat first?”

Scorpius nods enthusiastically. “Good idea. Do you want some of this bread?”

“You must really love me if you’re willing to share.”

“I do,” Scorpius says happily, conjuring a knife and starting to cut the bread. “I really do.”

For the next hour they slowly munch their way through as much of Albus’s food as they can manage. Despite there being way too much, Scorpius is determined to at least finish the bread, and once Albus is full he leans back on his hands and watches Scorpius battling his way through the last few slices with dogged-determination.

“You’ll make yourself sick.”

“It’ll... be worth it,” Scorpius says, taking another bite of bread and chewing it resolutely.

Albus shakes his head. “Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.”

Scorpius nods. “Mmph mm,” he says, through a mouthful of bread.

Albus smiles. He dips his finger in the jar of chocolate spread and licks it clean as he gazes up at the sky, which is now pale pink and blue, the sun climbing I rapidly towards its zenith, where it will hang suspended for hours.

“I don’t think I want to go back to Delphi,” he says after a moment. “I don’t think I want to go back to the league. I-I love racing, but I don’t think I can do that without her, and it’s all going to be shut down anyway.” He glances at Scorpius, who’s paused with a lump of bread in his cheek, looking a little bit like a hamster with its pouches full. He can tell that Scorpius is listening intently, and he sighs and shakes his head. “Sorry. Keep eating. It’s not important.”

Scorpius chews hurriedly then swallows. “No, it is. Go on.”

Albus shrugs and sits up, crossing his legs and picking at the edge of the blanket. “I know the league really well. I might be able to help you and Dad shut it down. And once it’s gone I can move on. I don’t have to see Delphi ever again, I don’t have to worry about her and neither do you. Maybe she does have plans, or- But they’re not our business. I mean maybe they’re a little bit yours, because of your job, but if there’s anything going on, Dad and his Aurors will find out. And that person who’s after me, who tried to hurt you, they didn’t get what they needed so maybe they’ll give up, or- Dad can sort that too if not. But if nothing happens then, you know. We can get on with living. I can get on with...” He trails off.

“What are you going to do?” Scorpius asks. “Once the league is shut down and you can’t race anymore?”

Albus shakes his head. “I still don’t know. I wish I did.”

Scorpius takes another bite of bread, finishing the slice, then he dusts the flour off his fingers and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “This is supposed to be a day for dreams,” he says. “I read about it one time. How people believe that when the sun is at its highest you should come up with your dreams and goals for the future, and as the darkness of winter closes in they give you something to hold onto, and they’ll slowly fall into place and keep you going.” He shrugs and scoops some raspberry jam out of the pot and starts spreading it on one of the two remaining slices of bread. “Maybe it sounds stupid, but it’s worth a go, isn’t it?“

“I suppose,” Albus says softly. “What are your dreams?”

Scorpius takes a bite of his bread and chews on it thoughtfully. After a few seconds he swallows and looks down at the rest of the jam smeared slice. “The Department of Mysteries. Still. As grateful as I am to your dad, and as much as this job has got more interesting recently... I want to be able to research the magical secrets that no one else has ever looked into before. I think it would be exciting.”

Albus nods. “Of course.” He dips his finger into the chocolate spread again. “Any others?”

Scorpius draws in a breath and nods. “Yes. There are others.”

Albus licks his finger. “You don’t have to share if-“

“I want to move out,” Scorpius says, lifting his head. “I don’t know where I’ll go, or... I was living with Dad because there wasn’t anyone else I could talk to. The Manor was the only place I was safe. But I don’t think it is anymore. And even if it’s not, they can’t do worse to me than what’s already happened.”

Albus stares open mouthed at him for a moment. He blinks twice, then he swallows hard. “You can move in with me.” A second later his brain catches up with him and his cheeks heat up as he realises what he’s said. “I-I mean... You don’t have to. You might not want- We’ve only been dating for three weeks, and-“

“I didn’t want to presume,” Scorpius murmurs, a tiny smile blossoming larger across his face. “But it’s nice to know that you’d have me.”

Albus nods quickly. “Of _course_ I would.”

“It’s a dream,” Scorpius says, the smile fading again as he scrapes a bit of jam off the crust of the bread and licks it from his finger. “I don’t know if I’ll do it... I’ll think about it.”

Albus nods again, this time trying to hold back his enthusiasm. Scorpius isn’t nearly as impulsive as him. If he says he needs time to think then that truly means he will need time, and Albus is going to give him that time. “Anything else?” He asks.

A small, shy smile spreads across Scorpius’s face. “You. You’re my other dream. But you probably already guessed that... and I guess technically you’re a dream come true. If we just keep going steady from here, who knows where we’ll end up.”

“You would be my dream too,” Albus says. “One of them at least. Then my family. I want to be completely okay with them again. And after that...” He shakes his head. “I just want to be free. I enjoyed studying this week. I want to get my N.E.W.T.s and learn to do magic properly. Maybe once I’ve done that I’ll know what I want to do with my life...” He sighs and twists the top back onto the chocolate spread jar before he can eat anymore. “Something worthwhile. I know it has to be that. Something to help people. Maybe kids. I don’t know.”

He puts the spread jar down and looks at Scorpius. “I’m always in awe of you. You’ve known for years what you want to do. I remember talking to you about the future when we were in second year, and you knew you wanted to work for the Department of Mysteries even then. You said you talked to your mum about it. And I said that all I talked to my mum about was the fact that I didn’t think I _could_ do anything. I still feel a little bit like that... All I can do is race.” He sighs and shakes his head. “It’s a nice idea. The dreaming. But if you don’t know what to dream...”

“Maybe your dream should be to know what you want to dream,” Scorpius says, with a little quirk of a smile on his lips. He finishes the penultimate slice of bread and takes a deep breath. “Last one. I can do this.”

“Your dream should be to not throw up,” Albus says. “You’re going to be so stuffed you won’t be able to move.”

“It’s worth it,” Scorpius says resolutely. “For this bread. My dream is to find more bread this good.”

“Well that one’s easy at least. It’s the bakery down the road from me.”

“I’ll have to add that to my list of pros of moving in with you,” Scorpius says as he begins munching his way through the last slice.

It takes Scorpius a while to recover from his bread exploits. He ends up lying with his head in Albus’s lap, massaging his stomach and groaning for at least half an hour after he finishes eating it all. Another half an hour after that he can at least move, and Albus is bored by that point, so he nudges Scorpius off his lap, packs up the breakfast things, and they mount the broom to fly back to Glastonbury.

Even though it’s early, the little town is abuzz with Solstice revellers and tourists. Albus doesn’t have a plan for this bit of the day, but Scorpius wants to poke around in the shops, looking for any interesting magical treasures, so they start making their way up the high street.

There’s a strange mix here of Muggle and magical shops, all jumbled together, some places even selling items aimed at both. There are potions ingredients next to mundane crystals and incense sticks, wands that Albus can tell would never cast a spell beside those that hum with anticipation of finding the right wizard for them, tarot cards, crystal balls, tea leaves, huge ranges of astrology and astronomy charts that range from incredibly accurate to rubbish aimed at Muggle tourists.

Albus has never been anywhere so mixed. It’s a magical town but at the same time there are plenty of Muggles ignoring the magic that’s staring them right in the face. How it can be legal to so blatantly sell magical wares in full view of Muggles, Albus doesn’t know, but clearly Scorpius doesn’t have a problem with it, because he’s bouncing with glee and getting as excited by the ordinary crystals and non-magical wands as he is by the barrels of dried Mandrake leaves, bundles of unicorn hair, and swirling crystal balls.

“Look at this!” Scorpius crows, presenting Albus with a long, swishy willow wand that doesn’t seem to have any magic to it. “It’s beautiful.”

“But it doesn’t work,” Albus says dubiously, rolling it over in his hands.

Scorpius shrugs. “Maybe it does. Just not for us.” He puts the wand back and takes hold of Albus’s hand. “Come and look at the tarot cards. I found a really cool deck.”

After that they get lost in a bookshop for a while. Scorpius picks up a stack of different books about local mythology and sits cross-legged on the floor to read. Knowing he won’t surface for a while, Albus wanders between the shelves, running his fingers over the spines and reading the titles of the books. He’s so lost in his own world that he doesn’t notice anyone in front of him until it’s too late.

He walks straight into a tall, solid man, and jumps back. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was-“

“Sev?” The man does a double-take and blinks. “It is you. What are you doing here?”

Albus realises with a jolt that he recognises the man. It’s Gareth, the spokesperson of the league. Their unofficial leader, who Albus had expected to never see again. But he’s here, and Albus feels a rush of warmth towards him. Delphi isn’t the only person from the league who he cares about. Then he realises that he’s never interacted with Gareth as himself before.

“I-I could ask you the same thing,” Albus says, suddenly very aware of how much he doesn’t look like Sev. The clothes are wrong, the hair, the eyes, everything. Not that it matters anymore, but there’s still something a little bit terrifying about not having the shield of a disguise to hide behind.

“I’m injured,” Gareth says with a grimace. “I can’t race today so I thought I’d bring the kids on a day trip. But what about you? No one’s seen you all week. People have been worried. There was a rumour going round that you’d- But that’s not true, clearly, because you’re alive right in front of me.” He grins.

Albus runs a hand through his hair. It really is long and unruly at the moment. “I-I’m okay. Taking a bit of a break...”

“Well earned, I’m sure. And the best part is that there’s still a league for you to come back to. We haven’t heard anything from the Ministry recently. You must have done a good job of persuading them not to shut it down.”

Albus forces a smile. “Thanks.” He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know what to do. He wishes he could disappear completely, but he can’t. He’s here. Having this awkward conversation. And it doesn’t seem as though the ground will oblige and swallow him up.

“Sev,” Gareth says, his warm smile fading a little. “Delphi’s been looking for you, did you know that? She seemed...” He pauses, and there’s worry in his eyes as he searches for the right word. “Upset. She told us if we saw you we had to tell you, and then tell her that we’d... Maybe you should check in with her. I don’t think she realised you’d be away this week.”

Albus swallows hard. “But she was the one who told me...” He suddenly feels very empty, like his stomach has dropped out of his body. There’s a chasm inside him, gaping, aching. He decided he wasn’t going to see her again, she said they were done. Why is she looking for him?

“I know,” Gareth says, holding his hands up. “That was just the message she wanted passed on. But if you don’t want me to, I won’t tell her you were here.”

“I-“ Albus’s voice is stuck in his throat, and he has to force the words out, making them sound hoarse and harsh. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t. If that’s okay. I-I didn’t think she wanted to see me again, and... I don’t understand. I need to think.”

The bookshop suddenly feels a lot more claustrophobic than it did two minutes ago. The shelves lean in on him, like they’re about to fall. The ceiling is low and shadowy. There’s so little space between the stacks of books. He’s surrounded on all sides, trapped. The air is so full of dust and incense that he can’t breath. He claws at the neck of his t-shirt, pulling it away from his neck, and tries to draw breath. It’s very hot, there’s no breeze, his cheeks are burning and there are beads of sweat standing on his forehead and dripping down his temples.

“Are you alright?” Gareth asks, frowning at him.

“I-I have to go,” he says, ignoring the question. His voice is weirdly detached from his body and from his mind. It doesn’t sound like him. It doesn’t feel like he’s speaking. Someone else is saying the words for him. “It was nice... nice to see you. Thanks for the message, I-“ He gulps in a breath of air. “I’ll see you soon.”

He turns and flees back to where Scorpius was sitting, running blindly, his breath catching in his throat. He kicks a stack of books on the floor by accident and they cascade out of their pile, but he doesn’t know what to do about it. Gathering them up seems too difficult, and all he wants to do is get out of here.

“Scorpius,” he gasps, when he finally finds him. “Scorpius, please. I want to leave.”

“But I was just-“ Scorpius looks up from his book and the brightness of his expression evaporates like clouds crossing the sun. “Albus, are you okay?” He snaps his book shut and shoves it back onto the shelf as he gets to his feet. He takes hold of Albus’s hand and squeezes it tight. “What’s wrong?”

Albus can’t speak so he just shakes his head and clutches at Scorpius’s hand.

“Alright,” Scorpius says. He picks the rest of his books up, hesitates before shoving them all back onto one shelf, then he wraps an arm around Albus and guides him out of the shop. “Do you want to sit down?”

Albus doesn’t need it suggesting twice. He leans against the brick wall just beyond the big front window of the shop and sinks onto the ground, where he buries his face in his hands and tries to catch his breath.

Scorpius hovers anxiously next to him, rubbing his shoulder and talking him through breaths. It helps, and as fresh air floods Albus’s lungs the world slowly shifts back into focus, and he wipes the sweat from his forehead. He feels awful and empty still, and he feels ashamed. It’s such a stupid way to react to the news that someone who’s meant to be his friend is looking for him.

“Sorry,” he mutters, struggling to his feet. “I didn’t mean to-“

“Are you okay to-“ Scorpius gets up with him and takes hold of his arm. “Don’t move too fast.”

“I’m fine.” Albus nudges his hand away and sways on his feet, drawing in a long, deep breath. “I am.”

“You’re very pale,” Scorpius says softly. “You look- What happened, Albus?”

Albus leans his back on the brick wall and folds his arms, staring down at his shoes to avoid Scorpius’s eyes. “I ran into someone from the league, one of the other racers. They- they said that Delphi’s looking for me.”

“Oh,” Scorpius breathes. “That sounds...”

Albus nods. He looks up at Scorpius as a fresh wave of panic rises inside him, making his chest tighten and his vision blur with tears. “I-I don’t want to see her. I... I told you I never wanted to see her again, and...” He gulps in a breath and doesn’t quite manage to hold back a desperate sob. “She supposed to be my friend. She saved me. She- But now she’s looking for me a-and I’m scared. I’m really-“ He buries his face in his hands to hide the tears leaking out of his eyes.

He can’t explain why he’s so scared, why he’s so upset, but he is. This week without Delphi has felt so fresh. It’s felt free. He’s been able to do whatever he wants, see whoever he wants, without having to explain himself. He doesn’t want to go back to treading on eggshells. He wants to live.

“Albus,” Scorpius breathes, and the next second Albus feels warm arms around him, and Scorpius kisses his tear stained cheek and strokes his hair. “You don’t have to go back. It’s okay. We can tell your dad, he’ll sort things out. I promise.” He buries his face in Albus’s shoulder and squeezes him tighter. “You don’t need to be scared.”

Albus closes his eyes and wipes the tears from his cheeks, desperately struggling to pull himself back together again. “I-I know. I’m sorry. I’m being an idiot.”

“You’ve done a lot of idiotic things,” Scorpius says, drawing away and pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, “but this isn’t one of them.” He hands Albus the handkerchief and looks at him. “Do you want to go home?”

Albus shakes his head. “No, no. This is supposed to be our date. There’s some more shops, and there’s that ancient well. We should visit that.”

“Are you sure?” Scorpius asks, frowning at him.

Albus nods and scrubs the tears from his face, giving a great sniff to clear his nose. “Positive. It’ll... it’ll be a nice distraction.” He forces a smile onto his face. “Come on, there’s an apothecary just up there. See the one with the plants outside?”

Scorpius gives him one last worried look, then nods and takes his hand, squeezing it tight. “Alright. Apothecary it is.”

They brush their way through the curtain of trailing plants that covers the apothecary door and head inside. It’s strangely airy in there. Despite the plants, the sun is finding gaps to stream in through, dappling the wooden floorboards with pools of bright light, and illuminating the dust motes that swirl in the air.

This shop is quieter than a lot of the others, and Albus can immediately tell that it’s not run by a Muggle. It looks just like any shop he’s ever visited in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. There are teetering stacks of cauldrons in one corner, copper, pewter, brass, even a solid gold one. The rest of the space is full of barrels, shelves, bags, bins, baskets, and boxes, all stuffed full with a huge variety of potions ingredients.

Scorpius gives Albus a brief glance, like he’s checking Albus will be okay without him. Albus smiles back and nods.

“Go on. I’ll just be over here.”

“Call me if you need me.” Scorpius squeezes his hand and goes bouncing off to explore the shop, leaving Albus alone with his thoughts.

Albus wanders across to the barrels. He’s always enjoyed potions; out of the pressure of the classroom it’s calming to mix and stew and follow instructions to the letter. The range of ingredients in this shop, all the ones he remembers from school, plus a few new ones, is soothing in its familiarity.

He picks up a metal scoop and digs it into a barrel full of shiny black beetle eyes. They glitter up at him, and he lets them cascade out of the scoop and skitter back into the barrel. He tries to focus on following the path of just one of the eyes, but as he does he realises just how similar those black, shining eyes are, just as dark and glittering as Delphi’s.

He can see her face as she stands in a shadowed corridor, looking at him like he’s hurt her, telling him that they’re done, and then turning away with a swish of her hair. He can see her on top of the Shard, shining in the city lights, swaying on her feet and crowing about jumping over the edge. He can see her talking animatedly to the Rowles in the upstairs room of The Scythe, his alcohol fuelled brain blurring her words but making her face unusually sharp and mesmerising. He can see her sitting on the wall outside the training ground, waiting for him to come back from his first meeting with Scorpius, when he was buzzing with newfound joy.

Back then he didn’t know. He didn’t know where he would go, how he would feel, that the whole world round shift around him. But he does now. Everything is different.

Scorpius’s blood, blossoming on the clothes they’d both worn specially for the date they were supposed to go on, colours every moment in scarlet. Albus can feel the scratch of her fingernail lifting his chin in place of gentle, careful touches and kisses pressed to his cheek. The sumptuous dinners of France, Italy, Spain, Russia, and a dozen other countries; the celebratory champagne following dazzling victories; intoxicating cocktails shared in dingy bars – they all taste of the salt of Albus’s tears as he’d watched her walk away. When he remembers the laughter they shared on warm summer nights he hears those words echoing back at him. _“Alright. Then we’re done. This is over.”_

He shakes himself and digs his fingers in his ears, like he can clear the words out of his memory somehow. He never wants to hear them again. If she’d never said them all this would be easier. He’d probably have been racing this week, he’d never have left, things would be normal. But he’d never have had this glimpse of what a life without Delphi would be like.

He stares blankly down into the next barrel, which is full of tiny, sparkling fairy eggs. They’re pale white, like tiny pearls, and have an almost iridescent gleam to them. Usually he enjoys looking at them from all angles, trying to spot every single colour gleaming on the surface, but today he doesn’t have the heart.

There’s a hollow, empty feeling inside him, and he hates it. He hates that one person can make him feel like this. When she doesn’t want him it aches. When she does, just as he’s coming to terms with never seeing her again, it hurts even more. It’s not fair. It’s infuriating. He desperately wants to ignore her summons, to just walk away like he told Scorpius he planned to.

But the truth, the thing that’s making him feel so hollow and hopeless, is that he can’t. The fact that she wants him back is enough to make him want to run to her side. He wants to see her, talk to her, apologise, do whatever it is she asks just so he can have her back in his life as his friend. Because as much as she terrifies him, as much as he suspects her, he also misses her.

It surely says something about him that he can run away for seven years, hide from everyone he loves, but he can’t consider giving up the person he ran away to, even when it’s for the best. Maybe it makes him weak, stupid, disloyal. It certainly means that his priorities still aren’t in the right place. But what can he do?

She’s Delphi. She saved his life.

He sighs and braces himself on the edge of the barrel, hanging his head, but just as he does he hears Scorpius call from the other side of the shop.

“Albus! Come here. I’ve had an idea.”

Albus lifts his head and frowns. There’s an urgency in Scorpius’s voice. He sounds excited about something. Actually, Scorpius is _always_ excited about something, but this sounds different. This isn’t nerdy flailing. This is the sort of excitement that means something terribly important has happened.

Albus pushes away from the barrel and crosses the shop, winding down a couple of rows of Potion flasks and tools hanging on shelves, until he reaches the back where the rare and valuable ingredients are kept.

Scorpius is standing there among the dusty darkness, an anxious, restrained smile on his face. The corners of his mouth keep twitching, like he wants to unleash the smile into full bloom, but doesn’t want to look like he’s getting his hopes up.

As he approaches, Albus can’t tell what Scorpius called him here for. He’s surrounded by all sorts of things. A bowl to his left emits its own silver light and has strange markings round the side. Behind him on a shelf is a box full of shiny black seeds that rattle even though they’re not moving. To his right is another larger box on the floor, full of what look to be brown shards of egg shell. And just above that, in a locked cabinet with a glass door, are rows of vials of a see-through liquid that makes rainbows dance across the shop floor when the silver light from the bowl hits them.

“What is it?” Albus asks, frowning around at the assortment of objects.

“I know what the solution is,” Scorpius whispers, like he hardly dares admit it aloud.

“What for?” Albus asks warily, eyeing him.

“My... my memories.”

Albus’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head. “Scorpius, no. Don’t do it. You might damage your brain and-“

“It’s already damaged,” Scorpius says waving a hand. “And this might make it better. Look.”

Scorpius steps to the side and gestures behind him, with a shaking hand. For the first time, Albus gets a glimpse of what Scorpius has called him over for.

It’s a tiny little cardboard box, worn around the edges like it’s been sitting there untouched for a long time. The lid is wedged open by the shelf above, and inside Albus can see a small mound of sparkling dust, almost black, but with a mother-of-pearl sheen even more iridescent than the fairy eggs Albus had been looking at earlier. On the lid of the box is scrawled in messy handwriting: Pearl Dust, 10G per pinch.

Albus stares at Scorpius. “O-okay. What are you thinking?”

Scorpius twists his hands together and bounces anxiously on the balls of his feet. “Do you know what the properties of Pearl Dust are?”

Albus draws in a breath and lifts his eyes to the ceiling, racking his brains. He knows this. He read about it earlier this week. He can see the page in his mind’s eye, but he’s never been good at recalling things, it’s always been part of why he’s so rubbish at exams.

His breath catches in his throat and his mind goes blank. He screws his hands into fists with frustration but then Scorpius’s voice floats into his mind. _You know this. Confidence._

He takes in a deeper breath and nods.

“It’s... it’s quite rare, which is why it’s so expensive, as we can see.” He throws Scorpius a pointed look. Is anything worth 10 Galleons a pinch?

“Go on,” Scorpius says, cheeks going a little pink.

Albus looks up again, trying to see the page in front of him. “I-it has a number of uses in Potion-making. It’s highly flammable – when Tincture of Demiguise and Pearl Dust meet they burn particularly well. It’s often used to personalise potions to the drinker, it’s highly reactive to um, to personal sentiment? Memories, emotions, that sort of thing.”

He glances at Scorpius to check he’s not making any of this up, and Scorpius gives him a thumbs up and gestures for him to keep going. Feeling considerably more confident now, Albus does.

“It’s most commonly used in Love Potions,” he says, and for the first time in his life he actually sounds like he knows what he’s talking about because he does. A smile spreads across his face as he goes on. “The more Pearl Dust is used in a Love Potion, the better it’ll be, and that’s because of its most key property. Pearl Dust can be used to influence a taker’s thoughts and memories. It can change your mind. That’s why it’s also found in things like Memory Potions, although less commonly, because there are some cheaper alternatives. However, potion-makers widely agree that... that Pearl Dust still achieves the best results...”

He trails off, staring at Scorpius and comprehension finally dawns.

“You’re going to take Pearl Dust and ask it to make you remember.”

Scorpius can’t contain his smile anymore. It stretches wide across his face and he nods. “It’s powerful stuff. They weren’t using it in the Memory Potions I was taking at the hospital because it’s too expensive, but I’m sure you could use it to override a Memory Charm.”

Albus frowns at the tiny box of sparkling dust. “What would your dad think about this?”

Scorpius shrugs. “He doesn’t need to know. If it works, it works. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t.”

“And what if it goes catastrophically wrong?” Albus looks at Scorpius. “I told him I’d take care of you and not let you over exert yourself. I think this might count as overexertion. What if you end up in hospital?”

Scorpius’s eyes go steely with determination. “Then you can tell him that you warned me not to do it and I didn’t listen.”

Albus sighs. “Will he believe that?”

Scorpius pauses for a second, then he pulls a sheet of parchment from his pocket, summons a quill, and starts scribbling.

_I, Scorpius Malfoy, hereby state that it was my sole decision to attempt taking Pearl Dust. Albus warned me of the risks, and should be in no way blamed for any consequences that may occur as a result of my behaviour._

He signs it with a flourish and hands it to Albus, eyes blazing. “Good enough?”

Albus stares down at the parchment in disbelief, words stuck in his throat. Scorpius takes that as a yes.

“Excellent. Let’s do this.” He whirls around and takes a pinch of the Pearl Dust, using a funnel to carefully siphon it into a tiny glass bottle, which he corks and takes with him as he marches off towards the front of the shop. Only then does Albus find his voice again.

“Scorpius. This is a really stupid idea. Don’t do this. You don’t even know if it’ll help!”

Scorpius doesn’t even glance back. “A pinch of undiluted Pearl Dust is easily powerful enough to do something.”

“Right,” Albus says, running a hand through his hair. “Something. Something sounds dangerous! Something sounds uncertain, potentially fatal, idiotic, reckless, and-“

Scorpius turns to look at him, a strange look in his eye like he’s seeing Albus for the first time. “Did you just call me reckless? You?”

Albus swallows and folds his arms. “Yes. I did.”

He expects Scorpius to start yelling at him, to fight back, but he doesn’t. Instead, a smile spreads across his face.

“You’ve changed. So much. When did you become the sensible one?”

Albus relaxes his arms and bows his head. “When I realised I cared too much about you to lose you.”

Scorpius doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move. His smile ebbs slowly from his face and he sighs. After a moment he opens his mouth to speak, but Albus shakes his head.

“No. Go on. Do it. Just... be careful?”

Scorpius swallows and looks down at the little bottle of Pearl Dust. “Alright,” he murmurs. “I’ll try.”

Albus hovers behind Scorpius as he hands over the 10 Galleons for his tiny sprinkle of Pearl Dust, then they leave the shop and start walking down the street.

Scorpius holds the tiny bottle in his hand, rolling it over and over, watching the Dust as it scatters and glitters and clings to the glass. Albus watches his face, uncertain, scared, not daring to ask where or when Scorpius plans to do this even though he’s desperate to know. Finally it gets too much for him.

“Are you going to wait until you get home then?”

Scorpius glances at him. “What?”

Albus stares at him. How can he possibly not know what that question was about?

“To take it! The Pearl Dust. The suspense is killing me.”

“Oh.” Scorpius looks down at the bottle. “I don’t know... I didn’t think I should do it in public. What if I collapse, or... This is a Muggle town too. Someone might call an ambulance.”

Albus sighs. “So I do have to wait until we go home?”

Scorpius clenches his fingers round the bottle. “I want to see the well. Then after that we can find somewhere to think about it.”

Albus tries to drag himself together. “Alright.” He nods. At least he knows he has about half an hour before he has to worry.

The well and the gardens around it are packed with people. Albus is too jittery to pay much attention to the ancient beauty of it all.

They inch side by side through the crowds, Scorpius chatting away about history as if nothing is going on. As if it’s just a normal, nerdy day out. Albus nods and smiles and tries to listen but he can’t focus.

There’s a lady in the garden giving a speech. People are clustered around her, listening. She’s talking about what Scorpius had mentioned earlier – dreaming the future as the sun hangs suspended in the sky above them. But Albus can’t even consider the future right now. All that matters is the past, and whether the Pearl Dust will help Scorpius recapture it.

That half an hour crawls by as slowly as the sun is moving in the sky today – not at all. Time is suspended. Motionless. The burning heat of the sun is unbearable, just like waiting is unbearable. When Scorpius finally looks at Albus and nudges him in the arm it’s a relief.

“You’re panicking,” he says.

“I’m not,” Albus lies.

“You are. And you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said.”

“Sorry,” Albus mutters. “I’m interested, I am, but there are...”

“Bigger things,” Scorpius finishes. “I know. I was thinking we should go back to the Tor. We can sit in the grass and...”

His sentence hangs unfinished in the air, and Albus’s heart races.

“Let’s go,” Albus says, taking his hand.

They sit near the bottom of the hill, away from the path. The grass around them is long and luscious, and Albus pulls handfuls of it out of the earth as Scorpius inspects his Pearl Dust.

“Have you decided how you’re going to take it?” Albus asks, tossing a handful of grass to the gentle breeze.

Scorpius looks at him. “Are there options?”

Albus shrugs. “You could... see if it will dissolve on your tongue. You could try and swallow it. You could pour it into water and drink the mixture. If you fancied being really wild you could try snorting it, but that might hurt.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that,” Scorpius breathes wide eyed. “I-I was just going to... I don’t know.” He taps his thumb on top of the cork and frowns. “When it was in that drink I had... it was sprinkled on top. It sort of dissolved on my tongue I think. It was fizzy. It was a little bit like sherbet.”

Albus shrugs. “Try that then.”

“Do you think? I don’t want to waste it...”

“Well I don’t have a better suggestion,” Albus snaps, nerves getting the better of him. “Unless you want to go to a library and find a book about the correct way of taking Pearl Dust.”

Scorpius glances at him, eyebrows raised, and Albus shakes his head.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I’m stressed. This was meant to be a nice day and now there’s Delphi, and this...”

“I can take it another day if you want,” Scorpius says softly. “I’m sorry.”

Albus shakes his head. “No, no. We’re here now. You’ve bought it. I’ll be panicking about it until you’ve taken it. I’d rather just get it over with.”

Scorpius licks his lips. “Alright then. Let’s get it over with.” He uncorks the bottle and raises it to his lips.

“What,” Albus says in alarm, “just like that?”

Scorpius shrugs and nods. He raises the bottle to Albus, then he tips his head back and pours the glittering dust into his mouth.


	16. Mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for self-harm, in the section beginning: ‘By the time Albus leaves the Ministry later that day, he’s fizzing with anxiety and frustration.’

_Albus sits on the rickety little stool and tries not to fidget too much. There are goosebumps rising on his arms, at least on the bits that aren’t covered in scar tissue._

_He rubs his hands over his arms to try and warm himself up, ducking his head. It’s cold in here, and he’s been waiting shirtless for at least five minutes now. He’s half considering pulling the shirt back on, or at least wrapping it around his shoulders. But Delphi said she’d be back in a minute, and he has no reason not to believe her, so for now he’ll just have to stay as warm as he can._

_To pass the time he looks around the room, taking in his surroundings. He’s been here before but he barely remembers it. It’s a medium sized bedroom, with windows on one wall, although Albus has only ever seen them obscured with blackout blinds. Lamps hung in all four corners of the room and from the centre bathe it in a flickering, golden light, but there are small pools of shadow in the parts of the room that the lamplight doesn’t touch._

_Albus stares at the bed in the corner, covered with soft, well-worn blankets, and tries to imagine himself lying there. He’d spent two weeks in that bed, barely conscious, in excruciating agony, recovering from the burn that now covers his left arm. He’s come a long way since then, and it feels a little odd to be back, but that’s why he’s here. Because this place is important. This is the room where Delphi saved his life, and now he’s here to mark his loyalty to her._

_“Are you ready?” Delphi asks._

_She’s just come in through the single wooden door, just to the left of the bed, and she’s already holding her wand in her hand. There’s a towel slung over one of her shoulders, and she’s got a bowl of water in her other hand._

_Albus shuffles in his seat and nods. “It’s weird being here.”_

_“You’re better company this time,” Delphi says, pulling up a second stool and sitting beside him. “Not that that’s hard. Turn around, I want to see your shoulder.”_

_Albus spins obligingly round on his stool, and a moment later he feels Delphi’s cool fingers on his back. He shivers involuntarily, and she tuts._

_“If you keep doing that you’ll make a mess of this. Try and sit still.”_

_“Sorry,” he mumbles, and does his best to sit as still as he possibly can._

_“It’s going just here,” Delphi says, jabbing him in the shoulder with her finger. “Is that right?”_

_Albus nods and tries not to wince. “I think so. If you think that would look-“_

_“It’ll be perfect. Are you ready?”_

_Albus twists his head round to look at her, eyes wide. “Just like that? Right now?”_

_Delphi looks back at him, incredulity on her face. “When did you think I was going to do it? Next week? We’re here now, you’re ready, I’m ready, no point messing around.”_

_Albus swallows and glances around the dingy room. “Alright,” he says. “I suppose I’m ready.”_

_Delphi doesn’t say anything, but she shifts on her seat, and the next second Albus feels her press the sharp tip of her wand to his shoulder. He’s always thought her wand looked a bit like a spike, dark and jagged and ruthless. Now it’s against his skin he can feel that he was right. It feels almost sharp enough to draw blood._

_Albus draws in a sharp gasp of breath, and Delphi sighs._

_“Do you need me to hold your hand?” She asks, and he can hear the sarcasm in her voice._

_He shakes his head and clenches his fingers in his lap, so his fingernails bite into his palms. “No. Sorry.”_

_“Good. Let’s get this over with.”_

_The first part is the worst. To begin with, the sharp pain has Albus digging his fingernails into palms almost hard enough to draw blood, his whole body tense with it, but once he’s used to it he relaxes enough to be able to think and talk._

_“Thank you,” he says after a few minutes of silence._

_“I’m not done yet,” Delphi mutters. “I haven’t even finished the first wing.”_

_“No,” Albus says. “No, not for the wings. For... Well, for everything I suppose. Saving my life. Giving me my future back.”_

_“You know I hate it when you get soppy, Sev.”_

_Albus smiles. “I know. But I thought it was worth saying. I’m glad I get to have that gratitude marked on me forever. Does that sound weird? Whenever someone sees the wings, whenever I see them, they’ll know that it was all down to you. They’ll know that you’re... I don’t know. Part of my life. The most important part.”_

_Delphi pauses. “The most important?”_

_Albus nods and glances back at her. “I wouldn’t be here without you. I wouldn’t be who I am without you. You always like to say that thing about the future, and it’s true, but you gave me that future. You gave me the option of having one that was all mine, not, you know, messed up by everyone else. So... so I’m actually really proud of these wings. I’ll always be proud.”_

_Delphi looks at him, gaze impenetrable, then she smiles and it lights up her face with radiant triumph. “Good,” she says, voice soft in a way that Albus doesn’t understand at first, but once he’s considered it he realises that perhaps she’s emotional. He looks away from her, cheeks heating up, and bows his head. They don’t talk again until she withdraws her wand a second time and runs a hand over his shoulder._

_“Done.”_

_He lifts his head and twists round. “Seriously? I thought it would take longer.”_

_Delphi gives a smug smile. “I’m very good.” She wipes her wand on her dress, then begins to slip it back into her pocket, but Albus catches her arm._

_“Can I see?”_

_Delphi nods and waves her wand, directing it at Albus’s shoulder. Instantly an image of his shoulder appears suspended in the air. Where before the skin was bare, with just a little bit of scarring, now there’s a deep blue pair of feathered wings inked onto it. The skin is a bit raised and red, but the intricate detail of the tattoo is obvious even so._

_“It’s beautiful,” Albus murmurs, reaching back to touch it. “It’s perfect.” He smiles and meets Delphi’s eyes. “Thank you. And this time I definitely mean for the tattoo.”_

_She inclines her head, eyes shining. “You’re welcome.” She tucks her wand away and gestures to his arms. “Did you ever think about getting anything on your arms to hide the scars?”_

_Albus glances down at his arms, then wraps his hand round his left bicep and ducks his head, resting it on his shoulder, trying to hide his arms. “A little bit. I don’t hate them, I just wish they hurt less.”_

_Delphi shrugs. “Just a thought. You could do something beautiful with those.”_

_Albus rubs his fingers over the taut scar tissue, then he reaches back and touches his new wings again. “I’ll think about it. I want to enjoy this one first. It’s perfect.”_

_Delphi bounces to her feet. “I’m glad. Now, don’t you have a race tonight? We need to get moving or we’ll be late.”_

_Albus gets up too, shaking his head and smiling. “You’re incorrigible.”_

_“And_ you _have a future to make.”_

_Albus reaches back and lays his hand over the mark one last time. “I do,” he whispers. Then he grins to himself, pulls his shirt back on, and starts to get ready to set off for the race._

For a moment Scorpius just sits there, tongue sticking out, face screwed up in disgust. His tongue still looks slightly sparkly, but most of the dust seems to have gone. Eventually he pulls his tongue back inside his mouth, smacks his lips a couple of times, and looks at Albus.

“Do I look any different?”

Albus shakes his head. “Do you _feel_ any different?”

Scorpius considers for a moment. “I don’t think so... My tongue is a bit tingly, but other than that...”

“So you spent 10 Galleons on something utterly ineffective?”

Scorpius looks down at the bottle, and his expression is disappointed. “At least we tried. I’d rather nothing happen than I forever wonder what-“

He breaks off mid-sentence, eyes wide with shock. As Albus looks at him all the colour drains from his face and he goes an awful sickly grey.

“Scorpius, you’ve gone all pale. Are you-“

Scorpius doesn’t seem to hear. At that moment he curls in on himself, burying his face in his hands and clawing at his hair. He doesn’t need to say anything for Albus to know that he’s in terrible pain.

“What’s wrong?” Albus asks urgently, shuffling closer to Scorpius and putting a hand on his back. “What’s happening?”

“My head,” Scorpius gasps. “It feels like it’s burning, it-“ He makes a noise of excruciating pain that makes Albus’s insides curl up in sympathy.

“Come on,” he says, voice shaking with fear. “We need to go to St Mungo’s. If you can hold onto me I can Apparate.”

He tries to take hold of Scorpius’s hand, but Scorpius pushes him away.

“No,” he moans. “No no no. We- we need to see your dad. I need to tell him...” He squeezes his eyes shut and digs his fingers into his forehead. “Need to tell him about the book.”

Albus stares at him. “The book? But no one could open it. Anyway, forget the book. You need help. You need a Healer. Scorpius, please.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “Parseltongue,” he says, opening his eyes an inch then wincing at the bright light and closing them again. “You have to speak to it in Parseltongue to get it open. Tell your dad.”

Albus nods, trying not to panic. Scorpius looks sicker than ever now, swaying from side to side, and there’s a small trickle of deep red blood coming from his right nostril. He lifts his head and opens his eyes, and when he meets Albus’s eyes there’s something awful in his expression. He looks scared and in pain, but most of all he looks desperately sad, and Albus doesn’t need him to talk about the memories he‘s just got back because he can tell just from that expression what they contain.

“I-I’m sorry, Albus,” he says in a soft, shaky voice, and just as Albus is opening his mouth to speak, his eyes roll back in his head and he crumples into the grass.

Albus swears violently. His brain is running at a million miles an hour, panicking, full of images of every moment he’s ever spent with Delphi. His hands are shaking. Everything about him is on edge, to the point that when he tries to take Scorpius’s pulse and check he’s still alive, he can barely feel Scorpius’s heartbeat over the pounding of his own blood through his veins.

He does eventually find a pulse, weak and thready but definitely there, and he nearly bursts into tears with relief when he does. He gulps in a breath and tries to steady himself.

St Mungo’s. Scorpius needs St Mungo’s. And somehow Albus needs to get a message to Draco, and to Harry. But he doesn’t have a fire or an owl, or any time to find either. There’s only one solution.

He’s been working on it this week, inspired by what Scorpius had done during the Dementor attack. He’s definitely not very good at it. Patronuses are his dad’s strong point, which automatically makes them not his, but right now there’s no other option.

He draws his wand, glances around to check that they’re entirely alone, then he thinks of Scorpius’s paroxysms of delight over the bread earlier and waves his wand. “Expecto Patronum.”

It’s about as effective as he’d expected. There’s a big whoosh of silver mist but nothing corporeal. At least the mist hangs in the air in front of him instead of instantly vanishing, and he has to hope that this will work even when his spell is so shoddy.

“Tell... Tell my dad and Draco. ‘I’m taking Scorpius to St Mungo’s, he’s sick. The book opens with Parseltongue. It should... it should tell us everything.’ Um...” He wavers, wiping tears from his cheeks and trying to work out it he’s missed anything. “No, that’s all. Please work.”

The silver mist vanishes, which is something at least, and Albus heaves Scorpius’s dead weight into his arms. He thinks of St Mungo’s and twists sideways as best as he can while he’s on the ground. Instantly the world vanished around him, and when it blinks back into existence he’s in the chaos of the hospital once more.

Everything is dark. Scorpius doesn’t know where he is. He can’t see around him. He can’t smell anything, hear anything, feel anything to give him a clue. The only giveaway is a tangy, clinical taste to the air. He recognises it, something familiar sparking inside him.

He doesn’t want to recognise it. He doesn’t want to be here. Maybe in the dark he’s made a mistake. Maybe he’s not really here. Maybe.

A light flares, casting a golden circle in the centre of the room. It illuminates the bed – the hospital bed which he’d known was there all along – and the pale face of the woman lying in it.

Scorpius wants to run. He doesn’t want to be here. This is his worst nightmare, but there’s nowhere to go. He’s trapped here. Stuck. Just him in this tiny room with his mum, and he knows all too well this ends.

“Scorpius,” She croaks, opening her eyes and reaching out a hand to him.

He swallows and tries to find his voice. “Mum.”

She beckons to him. “Come here, I want to see you.”

Scorpius’s legs are heavy and he doesn’t want to go, but he can’t say no to her. Not now. Not ever. He sets off across the room, bowing his head as he does to avoid looking at how thin and pale she’s become. She looks like a woman who’s dying, and he doesn’t want to see that.

“How are you feeling?” He asks in a hollow little voice, because he already knows that the answer won’t be good.

“Tired,” she replies, beckoning him closer.

“You should sleep then. Save your energy.” He reaches her and takes her hand. _Use it to stay alive, not talk to me. You need it to stay alive._

“I’d rather talk to you while I can.” She gives him a big, warm smile and he bows his head.

“You really should rest.”

“Tell me about school,” she says ignoring him. “Tell me about Albus.”

Scorpius squeezes her hand tight. “He’s Albus. He’s brilliant even though he doesn’t think he is. He can do anything he puts his mind to but he spends so long worrying that he never gives himself a chance. He’s selfish sometimes. He doesn’t listen sometimes. He’s my best friend and I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

His mum smiles. “He’s a good boy. A good friend. When all this is over you should talk to him.”

“What if... what if he doesn’t care?”

“He loves you,” she says wisely. “Of course he’ll care.” She looks at him for a moment, and he looks back at her, right into her eyes where the soft pinpricks of lamplight shine like a nebula of stars. She should grow to be as old as those stars. She should have forever. That would be fair. But life isn’t fair, and next thing Scorpius knows she’s blinked and sighed and started to shift in bed, trying to get comfortable.

“Maybe you’re right,” she says. “Maybe I should get some sleep.”

He helps her lie down. He pulls the blankets over her. He kisses her on the forehead and watches her smile.

“Goodnight Mum,” he says. “I love you.”

She briefly opens her eyes and looks at him one last time. “I love you too.”

It’s the last time he says goodnight to her.

After that the world changes. Time speeds up. The colours warp. Light becomes bright white and harsh, so harsh that it hurts to look at, his head aching. Memories burn crimson and black, too hot to think of although he can’t stop thinking of them.

His mum was wrong. Wrong about Albus. They talk night after night, hidden behind their hangings, but still Albus leaves.

Scorpius’s own voice rings through his ears, begging Albus to stay. It’s as loud as the clash of a bell, then fades strangely soft, so soft he can barely hear it, like the memories are distorted. It hurts his head to keep up with them. Everything is a confusing blur apart from one thing.

Albus said he’d know where to find Scorpius if he needed him, but Scorpius never knew where to find Albus. And he did need him. He needed him to care, like his mum had said he would.

Someone spits at Scorpius in the street. The phlegm hits him hard enough to sting, heavy and sharp, like the stab of a knife and he hears himself cry out.

In the distance he hears someone laughing, a cold, high-pitched laugh that sends chills running down Scorpius’s spine.

He’s walking down long, deserted corridors that go on forever. There are footsteps behind him and he starts to run. It’s dark. The metal bridges he runs across clang and rattle, and he claps his hands over his ears because it’s painfully loud.

His breath comes in desperate snatches, there’s not enough air in the world. He can’t stop running or he’ll be caught. Caught by someone nameless, shapeless, someone he can’t quite remember.

And then he _is_ caught. She’s standing over him and he can see every detail of her face. Sharp cheekbones, cruel, dark eyes, silver hair tied back behind her head, and a wand like a spike.

He knows her. He’s heard about her. And now she’s here hurting him but it’s not important. All he has to do is tell Albus. Albus has to know. Albus has to care.

But Albus doesn’t care. Albus isn’t here. Albus isn’t coming to save him. Albus has never come to save him.

A cruel voice somewhere above him laughs again. “Crucio.”

The whole world splits into fragments of white hot pain and Scorpius jerks awake, screaming.

He rolls over and buries his face in his pillow to try and relieve the pressure and pain in his head. He doesn’t know where he is or why he’s here, but what he does know is that Albus isn’t here. When Scorpius is in pain Albus is never here.

“Scorpius.” He hears a familiar, urgent voice beside him and it fills him with relief. That’s his dad’s voice. If his dad is here then he’s safe.

“Scorpius you’re in St Mungo’s. You’re safe. Are you in pain?”

Scorpius claws his way upright and nods, eyes squeezed shut against the light. He manages to kneel on the bed, blankets pooling around his waist, clutching his head and trying to shake the echo of that awful voice casting spells to torture him.

“I think you should lie down,” his dad says, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been through a lot. You need to rest, and if you’re upright your head might hurt more.”

Scorpius sways. It’s a good point. His head is pounding and he feels dizzy. Even with his eyes closed he can feel the world spinning around him.

He falls sideways, catching himself with one hand, and his dad puts an arm round his back.

“Come here, I’ll help you.”

Together they manage to get Scorpius lying in bed, and once he’s safely propped on his pillows Draco waves his wand to dims the lights and hands him a small measure of Painkilling Potion.

The effect of it is immediate. The warm, numbing medicine flows through Scorpius’s veins. His limbs feel very heavy, and the pain in his head dulls from something sharp as a knife cutting into his brain to a distant pounding, like someone playing music too loud but in the distance. Finally he tries opening his eyes, and sees his dad sitting beside him, lines of worry creasing his face.

“How do you feel?” He asks.

Scorpius nods and rubs his forehead. “Better. I-I’m sorry, I... I had a nightmare.” He thinks again of the footsteps chasing him, and the noise of them on metal clangs through his brain, making him wince. He digs the heels of his hand into his forehead and tries to stop thinking.

His dad eyes him for a moment, like he’s desperate to ask a question but doesn’t dare. Finally he licks his lips and leans forward in his seat. “How are... how are your memories?”

Scorpius shrugs. “I don’t know. They’re loud, they’re- there, I suppose.”

Draco exhales and his shoulders sag with relief. “Good. Albus told us what you did. He told us about the Pearl Dust. That was incredibly reckless, Scorpius.“

Scorpius frowns at him. “Albus... Albus told you about... _Albus_?” Albus is gone. Albus hasn’t been seen for years. This makes no sense.

“He gave me this,” Draco says, holding a piece of parchment out to Scorpius.

Scorpius takes it and stares down at the writing – his own writing, his own signature, and words about Albus. Albus who doesn’t care. Albus who left.

“I-I don’t understand,” he whispers, looking desperately at his dad for any explanation.

His dad’s expression doesn’t change exactly, but it becomes very rigid. Fixed in place. Like he doesn’t dare let the neutrality of it break, because if it did then all his control of the situation would dissipate. Scorpius wishes he could keep himself under control with the thin veneer of an expression, but he can’t, especially not now when his head is aching and he feels lost and confused in a world where he writes notes defending Albus.

“Do you remember what you did today?” His dad asks, very calmly.

“I went flying,” Scorpius says without thinking. He doesn’t know how he knows, he just does. The information is right there when he needs it.

His dad’s expression twitches. Relief, perhaps? “Where did you go?”

“Glastonbury,” Scorpius says, and again it comes so easily. “For the solstice. We were in Bristol overnight and then we flew down for sunrise and spent the day.”

We.

He hears himself say it, like it’s a fact, and only afterwards does his brain comprehend that this means he wasn’t alone.

“Do you remember who you were with?”

Scorpius thinks.

He can feel the warmth of a body in front of him, someone he clung to for support as they flew. He remembers the breakfast spread, with the delicious bread that was so good he’d proposed marriage on the spot. And he remembers the night before. Oh, he remembers that.

The stretch and burn and sweat of sex. The press of gentle fingers inside him. Kisses, hard and desperate, delivered with aching, bruised, slick lips. Tousled hair. Soft words. And a pair of beautiful, bright emerald eyes that swept him away.

He gasps as a sharp pain jabs through his head again, too strong for the Potion to combat. He buries his face in his hands and as he closes his eyes he can see Albus beaming at him, alight with radiant joy, like looking at Scorpius makes all his dreams come true at once. Words float to his ears, words from earlier that day.

_“You. You’re my other dream...”_

_“You would be my dream too.”_

Another jab of pain and he lets out a whimper, hanging his head as the world spins off its axis and he feels as though he’s falling.

“I’m going to call for a Healer,” his dad says somewhere in the distance. “You’re not well.”

“No,” Scorpius protests. “No, I’m fine. I’m _fine_. I remember.” He opens his eyes and manages to grab his dad’s wrist to stop him leaving, but in the process begins to feel very nauseous. He grips hold of his dad and shuts his eyes again, breathing slow and steady, trying to fight down the acidic burn in his throat.

“Albus,” he says, when he finally trusts himself to speak. “I spent the day with Albus. My- my boyfriend. Albus.”

He keeps saying the name, trying to get it to sink in. It doesn’t quite feel real, it doesn’t feel like his existence, but they’re certainly his memories, and he knows in his heart that it’s all true. He knows that Albus is back, that he cares, that he came to find Scorpius when he was lying unable to move, soaked in his own blood, and certain he was going to die.

“Albus,” he says one last time and he starts to cry, tears dripping between his fingers and dribbling down his chin, plopping onto the fabric of his hospital gown and staining everything with salt wet.

“He’s here,” Draco says gently. “He’s asleep. I imagine he’d want us to wake him. Do you want to talk to him?”

Scorpius finds that there’s nothing in the world that he wants more. If Albus is with him then he can sleep and he won’t have any more nightmares. If Albus is with him then it means everything is going to be okay.

He nods and lets go of his dad’s wrist. “Please.”

A minute later Albus is there. His eyes are dark and shadowed with exhaustion, his hair is slightly squashed on one side from where he’s been sleeping with his head against the wall, and he keeps blinking and trying to cover yawns, but he’s there and it’s beautiful.

“You,” Scorpius whispers, and reaches up to touch Albus’s cheek.

Albus covers Scorpius’s hand with his own. “I’m here.”

“I-I forgot,” Scorpius says in a choked little voice. “Forgot you. Forgot that you were back. I’m sorry. But I remember now. I promise.” A strangled sob bursts out of him and he releases Albus and buries his face in his hands. Albus hugs him.

“Sshh, it’s okay. I’m here,” Albus murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere, whether you remember me or not.”

Scorpius nods. “I know.”

It takes him a few minutes to stop crying and pull himself together. When he finally manages it, he lifts his head and looks between Albus and his dad.

“The book. Parseltongue. Did you tell Harry?”

Draco gives a curt nod. “He’s at the Ministry investigating. He’s supposed to be here soon. I think he’s planning to interrogate you.” The curl of his lip indicates just how displeased he is with that plan, but Scorpius doesn’t care.

“I don’t think there’s anything I don’t remember now. I think I can tell him everything. I think I can tell you all...” He trails off, looking at Albus who has gone very pale and looks slightly sick.

“It’s not good,” Albus whispers. “Is it?”

Scorpius doesn’t know what to say, so he just shakes his head.

A convulsive shudder runs through Albus’s whole body and he turns his back on them both, walking away towards the far corner of the room. When he goes, Scorpius can see that he’s wrapped an arm across the front of his body and his hand is resting on his shoulder, right where the wings are inked into his skin.

“How long was I asleep for?” Scorpius asks, turning to his dad, not wanting to think about Albus and that tattoo anymore.

“Surprisingly just a handful of hours,” Draco says, tearing his eyes away from Albus too. “The Healers thought you might never wake up. That was an incredibly stupid-“

“I know,” Scorpius says. “I promise I know.” His head is hurting so much, pounding into him just how much of an idiot he was. But he’s got his memories back, and now that he remembers they can act. And Albus can be free of Delphi properly, forever, just like he dreamed. “At least it was worth it,” he mutters.

“Indeed,” Draco says, glancing at Albus again, then back to Scorpius. “So what _do_ you remember?”

Scorpius’s head twinges and he hisses and presses a hand over his right eye. “I-I’d rather wait until Harry gets here. I don’t think I should tell it more than once.”

Draco eyes him for a second, then sits smartly down in the chair beside his bed. “Very well. Let’s wait for Potter then.”

Harry arrives with the dawn. He lets the door bang behind him when he comes in, making both Albus and Scorpius jerk awake from where they’re curled up on the bed together, dozing lightly. Draco glares at him, and he holds a hand up in apology. He’s wearing his travelling cloak, his hair is a mess, and he’s simmering with grim determination.

“It’s been a long night,” he says, “but I’ve got the book, and I think we’re getting somewhere.”

Scorpius yawns and rubs his eyes. “Did you get into it?” He sits up and Albus groans as the bed shifts. He pats Albus on the head. “Your dad’s here, come on.”

Harry nods, shadows gathering in his eyes. “Yes we did.”

“There’s one page.” Scorpius holds a hand out for the book. “Unless you already found it?”

Harry hands him the book, open on an inside double page. “This one?”

Scorpius takes it and sees the chilling words once again: ‘I am Voldemort’s daughter and this world is my birthright.’

He swallows and nods. “Yes. That one.”

Beside him, Albus sits up and brushes his hair out of his eyes, rubbing the sleep away. Scorpius wants to hide the book from him and never let him see it because he knows what it will do to him, but he doesn’t. He keeps holding the book loosely in his hand, while Albus reads over his shoulder.

Albus goes very very still and utterly silent. He reaches across and takes hold of the book, and Scorpius tightens his grip and glances at Albus, uncertain of what he’s going to do with it. The expression on Albus’s face is utterly inscrutable, but he meets Scorpius’s eye, and Scorpius just knows he should hand the book over, so he does. Instantly Albus curls up by his side and begins to scan the book from cover to cover, apparently oblivious to anything else going on around him.

After a moment of watching Albus and trying to work out what he’s thinking, Scorpius looks up at Harry. “It was her,” he says softly. “She found me in her room and she... she used spells. The Cruciatus mainly, but this other one too.” He rests a hand on his chest where the scars are. “Sectumsempra.”

He bows his head and crosses his arm behind Albus’s back, so it’s almost but not quite wrapped around him. “She wanted to know how I got Albus to love me, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer when I said I didn’t know. She took my memories, cast a Body Bind Curse on me, and made it so no one could hear me calling for help, then she left me. She was going to come back later and keep talking to me. Maybe she would have tortured me until I was insane. Maybe she would have realised I was useless and killed me. I don’t know. I’ll never know...”

“Why did she leave?” Harry asks, eyes on Albus rather than Scorpius. “Where did she go?”

“Someone called her. She was late for a meeting.” Scorpius looks up at Harry. “It was at a different bar. The Sign of the Black Dog, I think.”

The fire in Harry’s eyes burns bright and he draws his wand. He doesn’t even speak before the Stag Patronus bursts into life, dazzling the room and making Scorpius squeeze his eyes shut as his head throbs.

“Someone needs to visit the Sign of the Black Dog,” Harry tells it. “We think Delphi might have held meetings there.”

As quickly as it had come, the Stag vanishes, and the room feels dim once again, and rather grey. Scorpius is grateful to open his eyes and no longer be blinded.

“Sorry,” Harry says. “Go on.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “I’m not sure what else there is to tell... When she left I-I lay there until Albus and Dad found me.”

At the sound of his name, Albus lifts his head. “What are we going to do?” He asks. His voice sounds hollow and wooden. The lack of emotion in it says everything about how he’s feeling, and Scorpius puts a hand on his back and looks at him with worry. Albus doesn’t react, he just looks at his dad.

“What do you mean, what are we going to do?”

“About this.” Albus tosses the book onto the bed. “About her. How are we going to punish her? How are we going to stop whatever it is she’s planning?”

“You and Scorpius are going to do nothing,” Draco says, getting to his feet. There’s a hard look in his eyes, and he directs the full force of it at Harry. “Isn’t that correct, Potter?”

Harry nods. “It is correct.” He looks at Albus and Scorpius. “I’m meeting with the Aurors in the morning. We’ll be making a plan then.”

Albus folds his arms. “She was looking for me. I don’t know if I mentioned that. If I don’t contact her she might realise something’s going on. I think I need to be involved.”

“No,” Scorpius says. He can’t stop himself. He turns to look at Albus and takes hold of his hand. “You’re not an Auror. She’s powerful. She’s dangerous. You don’t need to be the one who fights her.”

Albus’s eyes blaze bright as a flame that’s just been ignited by Floo Powder. He’s been moved to action by the rage that’s radiating out of him. Even before he speaks, Scorpius knows he’s going to fight back.

“Yes,” he says softly, “I do.”

“Scorpius is right,” Draco says. “You shouldn’t-“

“She stole seven years!” The words come exploding out of Albus, and he suddenly seems so much bigger than a tiny, hunched, broken form sitting on the bed. “I should have finished school. I should have N.E.W.T.s. I should have a job that has never nearly killed me. I should have had all of you. I ruined all our lives for seven stupid, pointless years that I thought would make everything better. I need her to pay for that.”

There’s a brief, very loud silence, in which Scorpius tries to work out what to say, and he can feel Harry and Draco doing the same. But it’s Albus who breaks the silence first.

He looks at his dad. “During the school holidays I would sit in the garden, by the broom shed, and she’d come and talk to me. It started off every few weeks, then every few days, then she would come by every single day and we’d talk.” He rubs agitatedly at his right arm. “I know that we were a disaster, but I think maybe we could have fixed it. Maybe if it hadn’t been for her.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks softly.

Albus hangs his head, fingers clenched around his arm, hair hiding his eyes. “She told me about the future. How it would be so much better if I left. How I’d never fit in with you. She made me unhappy, discontented, maybe even scared. She said the only way I could ever be free or happy was if I ran away. She said I deserved to know what the world was like away from my family. She said I should go and discover myself.” He gives a derisive little snort and shakes his head in disgust. “It was all her fault. Every bit of it. And now I want to help stop whatever it is she’s doing.”

“I thought it was my fault,” Harry murmurs. “Because of what I said to you.”

Albus’s anger seems to have dissipated into sadness now, and he looks so much smaller again, like all the fight has been sucked out of him, leaving just the pain behind, like shells left by a receding tide.

“It was your fault. A-and mine. But maybe without her we never would have ended up where we did. Maybe we could have fixed it sooner. We’ll never know.”

Harry seems to consider for a moment, then he shakes his head. “No we won’t... You’ll come to the Ministry with me then? In a few hours? We can talk to the Aurors about a plan. If she’s looking for you anyway you might be useful, and if she has a plan for you then you should be safe...”

Albus lights up. “I can come? You’ll let me help?”

“I don’t think I can stop you. And I’d rather have you be included in my plan than running off to fight her yourself.”

Albus grins, but it’s vindictive and ugly. “I’m not you, Dad.”

“Maybe not, but you have the stubbornness of your mother. I know you’d do it.”

Albus doesn’t seem to have an answer to that, but the twisted grin of triumph doesn’t fade an inch from his face.

“I still think that Scorpius should sit this one out,” Harry says, glancing at Draco.

Scorpius looks at Albus and that smile. He knows that he shouldn’t go. He doesn’t really want to go. But something tells him that Albus will need to be watched like a hawk for the next few hours, plan or no plan. No sooner has that thought crossed his mind, however, than he feels a stab of pain in his head and stars dance across his vision. He grips Albus’s arm for support and gulps in a breath to try and steady himself.

“Even... even if I wanted to,” he says, carefully controlling the words to hide his pain, “I don’t know if I could.”

“I’m taking you home for rest,” Draco says, giving him a hard look. “No gallivanting, no fighting, just lots of sleep and peace and quiet. The trained Aurors will sort it all out, and even if you should be one of them by now, you’re not, so you’re better off away.”

Normally Scorpius would argue with him, but right now, when his aching head is blurring his vision and all he wants to do is curl up in the pitch black and sleep, he just nods meekly. “Home. Home sounds good.”

“That’s settled then,” Harry says. “Albus and I will go to the Ministry, and you two will stay here until the Healers say you can leave, then you’ll go home.”

Draco nods. “I just about approve of this plan. As long as you promise to take proper care of Albus. Scorpius and I are quite attached to him, Potter.”

Harry looks at Albus, who has gone a little bit pink in the cheeks. “We’ll both do our best to stay safe.”

By the time Albus leaves the Ministry later that day, he’s fizzing with anxiety and frustration. The meeting is so long and dull and they don’t decide to do anything. The plan is to get more information, but Albus doesn’t _want_ more information, he wants to make a move on Delphi.

She’s so far ahead of them now. She must have realised that Albus isn’t coming back. Since then she’ll have moved on, moved forward, found a way to get what she wants without him. There’s no way they have unlimited time here, even though everyone seems to be acting like it. Albus feels like he’s sixteen again and lying awake, watching his Tempus Charm tick down to midnight when everything will change. Midnight is approaching now, and Albus is certain he’s the only one who feels it.

He paces round his house, climbing the stairs then rushing back down them, picking things up and putting them down, turning his back on anything that makes him think of Delphi. It’s impossible to stand still, and the whole time he can feel the shame of the winged tattoo on his back. It weighs him down, and he wishes it were gone. He can’t fight her with her mark still inked into his skin, like a tether to her. He needs to be free.

He tugs his shirt off and scratches at the mark. Waiting isn’t an option. They don’t have time to wait. Except he can buy some time. He’s the only one who can. Maybe having him back will distract Delphi sufficiently that it’ll give the others room to move. Or if not, at least he might be able to find out what she’s up to and pass on the information.

It’s worth a try, and he _has_ to do it. He has to.

He sinks onto the edge of his bed and stares down at his hands. Thoughts and memories flood through his mind.

He can see the pages of Delphi’s notebook. He can hear her words echoing through the stadium corridor as she walked away from him. He can taste sharp, intoxicating alcohol, as beyond the haze people talk and plan, and he catches his own name and his dad’s but doesn’t have the wherewithal to pay attention. He can smell blood and urine and sick, and his stomach lurches because Scorpius has been missing for hours and something is terribly wrong.

He rakes his fingers through his hair and drags in a shaky breath. After everything, after all this, how can he not act? It’s all his fault. He has to be the one to fix it. He can’t let anyone else suffer because of him. Not anymore.

His legs are strangely jerky and stiff as he stumbles to his feet. He doesn’t feel entirely in command of his body at the moment, and he only just makes it through to the bathroom, where he braces himself against the sink for support and stares at himself in the mirror.

At least he’s reclaimed his appearance over the last three weeks. If the him of three weeks ago could see the him of now he’d be shocked. Entirely gone is the cropped hair and brown eyes. All attempts to disguise himself have been abandoned, and he looks – there’s no other way of saying it – just like his dad. But better than that, he looks like himself. The scruffy tangle of black hair sits above the thin face with the bright emerald eyes that Scorpius loves so much. Three weeks ago, Albus would have seen a thousand things in his appearance to change or hide, but now he’s happy, even proud of how he looks. He may be a mess, but he’s a Potter, Albus Potter, and every inch of him says so. The only bit that doesn’t is the ugly mark on his shoulder.

He twists round to see it. The wings are still there, staining the skin above his shoulder blade. They’re intricate and beautiful, as they always have been, but now he hates them. Once upon a time he told Delphi he would always be proud to have them, but today they’re the only remaining thing about himself that he’d want to change. And he will, because there’s no way he’s going to confront her and defend his family and Scorpius with her mark on him. That would be wrong. The idea is sickening. No, the wings will have to go.

He draws his wand and stares at his pale, worried face in the mirror. This is going to hurt. But it’ll be worth it. It _will_ be worth it. To be unburdened and without shame. To know that he’s completely free of every tiny bit of her influence. Any pain is worth that.

“I can do this,” he says softly to himself, nodding. “I’ve done far worse.” And then, before he can change his mind, he presses the tip of his wand to his skin and starts trying to obliterate the wings.

The pain is instant, and he clenches his teeth and locks his fingers onto the edge of the sink. Hot blood dribbles down his back, making him shudder, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t, not until the wings are gone. No matter how much it hurts or how much he bleeds he’s not stopping until the last trace of Delphi is gone from his body.

Every cut is harder than the last, because with each one the pain builds. He learns just how awful it feels, and it takes everything in him to keep going. His muscles tighten and tense, and his breath comes in snatches. He’s gripping his wand so hard that his hand is trembling, and his fingers are sticky and slick with blood, so the handle keeps slipping. His back is wet with it too.

He feels sick and faint, his knees trembling. He can’t take much more of the pain. But he has no idea how he’s doing because he can’t see anything anymore. When he looks in the mirror all he can see is black, dripping, running blood, obscuring his progress.

His stomach lurches and his head spins. He retches, clinging to the side of the basin, his fingers staining the white porcelain with red. There’s so much blood. _So_ much blood. And his shoulder is stinging and aching.

As his knees give out and he sags onto the floor he realises that this was a terrible idea. This was such a stupid thing to do. His shoulder is cut to threads and he doesn’t know any healing spells. Even if he knew them he doesn’t know if he could cast them.

He buries his face in his knees and tries to breathe, swallowing hard to try and keep the acidic taste of vomit in his mouth and throat to just a taste. He’s already made enough of a mess without throwing up everywhere.

His wand slips from his fingers onto the floor with a clatter and he reaches back to try and press his hand over the wound on his shoulder, wanting to somehow stem the blood. But his hands are so covered with the stuff anyway that it’s ineffective. Why hadn’t he expected there to be so much blood? He can’t stop it. He doesn’t know the spells, he doesn’t have any Muggle bandages, there are no potions here that would help. This is a disaster. He needs help.

Trying not to move too much, because the stinging pain in his shoulder is excruciating, he shifts carefully forward and reaches for his wand, which is stained with blood on the tip and handle. He closes his fingers round it and holds it firmly, not wanting it to slip away again, then he screws up his courage and thinks of the only person he would want to help him in this situation.

Thankfully, Scorpius was let out of hospital at lunchtime. He should be resting now, and in any other circumstance Albus wouldn’t want to bother him, but in this...? Scorpius will know what to do. He knows spells. And he won’t make a fuss like anyone from Albus’s family would.

Through gritted teeth, he mutters the words: “Expecto Patronum.” It’s difficult to focus on a happy memory through the pain, but he manages to think of Scorpius’s eyes shining the light of the sunrise, and a swoop of relief rushes through him. The next second some of his pain dulls, as he’s bathed in the warm silver glow of his Patronus.

“Thank you,” he gasps, leaning sideways and resting his elbow on the floor to try and steady himself. The room is starting to spin around him. “I-I need Scorpius. Tell him I-I’m in trouble. I’m hurt. I need help. Tell him I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t call, but...” He gestures around to all the blood. “I need him.”

There’s a pause, then the Patronus vanishes, and Albus tries to remember what you’re supposed to do if you’re bleeding or feeling faint. You’re supposed to elevate the injury, surely? But that would mean sitting up, and the idea of being any higher off the floor makes him feel slightly sick. And if you’re feeling faint you’re meant to lie down with your feet up or something, but that would send all the blood to his shoulder. It’s stupid, lose-lose. Scorpius needs to get here soon...

His discarded t-shirt is lying by the door, and he manages to crawl across to that and screw it up into a ball. He presses it against his shoulder and then kneels there, head resting on the floor, screwed up into a little ball, eyes shut to stop the room turning around him.

He loses track of time. There’s nothing except pain and the effort of breathing and the steady beat of his heart as it pumps the blood now soaking his screwed up t-shirt. Is Scorpius coming? How long ago did the Patronus reach him? Did the spell even work? Albus has no idea, until he hears a faint noise downstairs: the rush of an arrival by Floo, the creak of floorboards, then the call of a voice.

“Albus? Where are you?”

“Scorpius,” Albus croaks, lifting his head. “I’m in the bathroom.”

Running footsteps on the stairs. Albus tries to sit up and make himself look decent but he doesn’t get very far before Scorpius is standing in the doorway, staring in horror at the carnage in front of him.

“Merlin...” he breathes. “Albus, what happened? Were you attacked? Is your dad okay? The Aurors?”

Albus nods. “Fine, fine. I-it wasn’t an attack.” He struggles to sit up, wincing as he leans back against the rim of the toilet, which is ice cold against his back. “I did it.”

“You-“ Scorpius looks at him, face very pale. “You did it?”

Albus bows his head. “I wanted to get rid of the wings. So I-“

“You hacked yourself to pieces,” Scorpius whispers, looking at the balled up t-shirt Albus is pressing to his shoulder.

“I-I wanted to... I wanted to just be me again,” Albus says in a very small voice. “Especially if I have to go and... I couldn’t face her with those wings still there. I couldn’t.” He chokes on a sob, bowing his head as tears start dripping down his face and into his lap.

“Albus,” Scorpius breathes. “Come here. Let me see your shoulder.”

His hands are soft and warm as feathers, but he’s also firm and no nonsense, which Albus finds comforting. Fortunately he also doesn’t seem bothered by all the blood. In another life maybe Scorpius would have made a good Healer.

Albus hisses as he moves the t-shirt away – some of the blood has dried onto it, so he can feel it tugging at his damaged skin.

“I know,” Scorpius says soothingly. “I’m sorry.”

“I suppose it’s my own fault,” Albus mutters. “I can’t complain.”

“I wasn’t going to say that, but yes.” Scorpius tosses the t-shirt aside and pauses. “Wow.” It’s more of an exhale than a word. “You’ve made a mess here.”

“I noticed.” Albus hangs his head and tries not to move too much. “It hurts.”

“It will do.” Scorpius draws his wand. “I’m not a Healer, I don’t know what I can do. You should go to-“

“I’m _not_ going to St Mungo’s,” Albus says firmly, lifting his head and turning to glare at Scorpius.

Scorpius nods and holds up a placatory hand. “I know that. But if you _did_ want a good job doing, that would be the place to go. I can clean it up and try and piece it all back together, but... it’s not going to be pretty.”

“As long as the mark’s not there anymore I don’t care,” Albus says.

Scorpius nods. “I’ll do my best.”

It turns out that Scorpius is quite good at Healing spells. Albus supposes this isn’t really a surprise, since Scorpius is good at every spell, but he’s always assumed that Healing spells were tricky and intricate and above the capability of the ordinary wizard. It’s why he’s never bothered to try them himself. But of course Scorpius is no ordinary wizard, and Albus, who is feeling a bit woozy from pain and blood loss and whatever numbing spell Scorpius has used on him, tells him so.

“I suppose it’s my excellent wand work,” Scorpius says drily, and Albus can hear the smile in his voice.

Albus grins to himself. “You enchant me with your wand work. You should have an Outstanding N.E.W.T. in wand work. Your wand work could charm the pants off me.”

“Technically it already has,” Scorpius says, and Albus giggles, feeling light-headed and floaty. “Are you alright?” Scorpius asks, and Albus nods.

“My shoulder doesn’t hurt now.”

“That’s good,” Scorpius says. “That means the spells are working.”

“Is the tattoo gone?” Albus asks, trying to twist round far enough so he can see what Scorpius is doing.

“Well you’ve done a good job of getting rid of all the skin,” Scorpius says grimly. “So there’s no tattoo to be seen now.” He withdraws his wand and looks seriously at Albus. “I know how to heal cuts and things, I know how to stick skin back together, but regrowing it is... a bit beyond my capabilities.”

“Oh,” Albus says softly. It suddenly feels like a bubble has burst inside him, and the light, giggly feeling disintegrates in an instant to be replaced by a heavy, hollow sadness. He bows his head and stares down at his hands for a long, still, silent minute.

“She was my best friend,” he murmurs finally. “Did you know that?”

Scorpius stills behind him, one hand resting on his shoulder, the tip of his wand touching the very edge of the wound. “I did,” he says softly. “I’m sorry, Albus.”

“Now I know how you felt.” Albus pulls his knees up to his chin and hugs them. “I let you down, didn’t I? I hurt you. Disappointed you. I wasn’t what I promised to be.”

Scorpius murmurs a spell, the consonants whispering softly, barely audible, and Albus feels warmth wash over his shoulder. He shivers.

“I remember when we were twelve,” Albus goes on, staring at the pale turquoise bathroom tiles on the wall opposite him. “We were on our way to school and you told me about your mum. What happened to her. And you... you asked me to be your good friend, and I was so...” He shakes his head, searching for the right word. “So confused about why you’d even ask. Of course I’d be a good friend. The best. How could I not be? And then I spent years fucking everything up. I still am, really.” He rests his forehead on his knees and lets the darkness seep in.

“There’s an important difference here,” Scorpius says, briefly pausing in his spellcasting.

“Is there?” Albus asks, glancing up and turning to look at him.

Scorpius nods and casts a couple more spells, then he conjures a long length of snowy white bandage from thin air and sets his wand down so he can start working out how to tie it round Albus’s shoulder.

“Delphi lied to you. She never intended to be your friend. She was leading you on and using you. But you never lied.” He looks up from the bandage and meets Albus’s eyes. “Just because you made a bit of a mess doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. Everyone makes mistakes, Albus. Lots of people are rubbish friends, rubbish parents, whatever. They don’t mean to be, but that’s just how we are. We’re selfish and stupid and get wound up in ourselves.”

He looks down again, back to the bandage, which he keeps carefully winding round Albus’s shoulder, pulling it tight but not too tight. “I know that when you told me you’d be a good friend to me you meant it, and you have been, a lot of the time. But Delphi never meant it to you. What Delphi did was cruel and heartless and- and evil. What you did was human, and I... I forgave you for that a long time ago. I love you in spite of – because of – the stupid stuff you do. Maybe that’s not sensible but love isn’t really, is it? Delphi will never understand that because she doesn’t _get_ love. Just like her dad, I don’t think she’s capable of understanding.”

Scorpius carefully ties a knot in the ends of the bandage, and casts an extra spell to make sure it’s perfectly secure. “I think that might be why she asked me all those questions about you. If she’d understood love she’d have known that you already loved her. But she didn’t and now she’s broken your heart.” He sighs and gives the bandage a gentle tug to make sure it’s not going to move, then he withdraws his hands and looks at Albus. “I really am sorry. You deserved better.”

Albus sniffs and shakes his head. “I-I don’t think I did though. I got what I wanted. I got to be someone else and feel loved and powerful and important. I know it was an illusion, but... I wanted that life. And maybe when I was younger if I’d known who she was I would still have gone with her. It was all my stupid fault.”

“No,” Scorpius says, getting to his feet and going to the sink so he can wash the blood off his hands and wand. “No, everyone deserves a proper chance, with friends and family who love them and decent people to look up to. You thought you didn’t have that, so you found someone to look up to who’s turned out to be awful. That’s not your fault.”

“What about you though?” Albus asks, staring up at him. “You deserved all that too. I should have been that for you.”

“I had my dad,” Scorpius says simply, drying his hands on a towel and sinking back onto the floor. “I was never alone. It wasn’t great, but I never felt abandoned.”

Albus bows his head. He wants to argue that he never felt abandoned either, that he really did love Delphi through and through. But he can’t lie to Scorpius. There were too many flights down the gorge in the rain. There were too many nights where he cried himself to sleep feeling scared and lonely. Delphi was his only friend, but she wasn’t always much of a friend: secretive, cold, punishing, holding him constantly at arms’ length. The days when she was disappointed in him and refused to interact with him at all were the ones where he wondered if he was wanted in this life at all by anyone.

“The past is the past,” Scorpius says gently, sliding over to Albus and taking his hand. “Maybe we both deserved better, but now we’ve got better. You told me you have dreams, things you want to do. Once Delphi is gone we can make them happen, you and me together, and our families. That’s the future you’re going to get and it’s the one you deserve.”

Albus lifts his chin an inch and looks at Scorpius. He’s right, he always is, and it makes him feel better to know it. He manages a tiny smile and nods. “I suppose so.” Then he sighs and runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I really really really want to get rid of her first though. And once she’s gone I never want her coming back.”

Scorpius wraps both arms round him in a tight hug, carefully avoiding touching Albus’s shoulder, and Albus buries his face in Scorpius’s shoulder.

“Me too,” Scorpius says softly. “Definitely me too.”

They go to the Manor once they’ve sorted out the state that is Albus’s bathroom. Albus is initially hesitant about spending the night without asking Draco’s permission, but Scorpius points out that on balance Draco will be less upset about finding Albus there unexpectedly than he would be about finding Scorpius missing. It’s an excellent point that Albus can’t argue with, so they Floo to the Manor and tiptoe up to Scorpius’s room.

Scorpius is on edge the whole time, certain that his dad is going to step out of the shadows and intercept them, but by some miracle they make it all the way to his room and slip inside. Albus curls up on his bed among the mess of clothes and books, looking rather like a cat, and by the time Scorpius has cleared the detritus from around him, he seems to have fallen asleep.

Scorpius wriggles into bed and nudges his shoulder. “Are you coming under the covers?”

“Mmm,” comes the response, and Albus curls up tighter.

Scorpius smiles and starts gently teasing the blankets out from beneath him. It takes a minute, but eventually Albus seems to realise what he’s doing and starts doing a half-hearted little wiggle to try and help. It’s not that effective, but Scorpius rewards him with a kiss for his efforts and pulls the blankets over them both.

It takes Albus a second to get comfortable again. His shoulder seems to be bothering him and he keeps grumbling to himself in a way that should probably inspire sympathy but which Scorpius actually just finds rather adorable. When Albus finally settles down he’s using Scorpius’s chest as a pillow, and he seems to pass out straight away with his neck at a weird angle and Scorpius’s fingers brushing through his hair.

Scorpius has a much harder time falling asleep. His head is full of too much noise. All his thoughts are submerged in the crimson of Albus’s blood. Memories come and go, either so vivid they hurt or too soft and distant, like a wireless that someone has turned down to the faintest crackle.

To distract himself he tries to think of something nice. His thoughts turn to the Patronus message that Albus had sent earlier. He’d meant to ask Albus about it but he’d got swept up in everything and forgotten.

When the Patronus came it wasn’t an indistinct cloud of silver. It was a proper animal. Solid and stocky and sort of wild looking, its mane whipped up by a non-existent breeze, ears pricked, hooves stamping impatiently. It looked like a pony, but most importantly it looked like Albus and, aside from the message it brought, its presence was warm and comforting in the same way Albus’s presence is.

Scorpius had meant to ask what it was. He’d meant to tell Albus that he was proud of him for achieving such a complex piece of magic. He’d meant to tell Albus how happy the Patronus had made him feel. But it had all got lost, and now Albus is asleep, and Scorpius’s brain is going fuzzy too.

The world closes in around the edges. Scorpius can feel Albus’s soft hair beneath his fingers. He can feel the warmth and radiance of Albus’s Patronus. He feels happy and comfortable and content, and then sleep grips him, and he’s surrounded by a swirl of memories.

It’s the same dream as last time. His mum is there, lying in the bed, telling him that Albus cares for him. Then Albus is gone and he’s lost in years of lonely misery. Albus is gone and he’s never coming back. He’s left Scorpius alone with someone chasing him, running footsteps behind him, then lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Albus is gone and there’s no one to save him, and then he hears an awful, cruel voice above him saying “Crucio”, like it’s funny, like it’s a game, like his pain is entertainment, and he jerks awake screaming and finds himself staring into Albus’s terrified, emerald eyes.

Scorpius clutches at him as he bursts into tears. “You’re here. You’re here. You’re- you’re really here.” He runs his hands over every inch of Albus that he can reach, checking that he’s solid and present and real, and Albus lets him do it.

“O-of course I’m here,” he says in a shocked, scared voice. “Of course I am.”

Scorpius rests his hands on Albus’s cheeks, cupping his face and gazing into his eyes, then he gives a heavy sob and buries his face in Albus’s shoulder, and Albus hugs him tight.

“Was it a dream?” Albus asks softly, rubbing his back. “A nightmare? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Scorpius chokes. “Y-yes, a dream. Sort of a-a memory. I-I don’t know. My head hurts.”

“Do you need some potion?” Albus asks. “Tell me where it is, and I can-“

“No.” Scorpius grips hold of him. “No, don’t go. I just need you.”

Albus hesitates, then he kisses Scorpius’s cheek and hugs him again. “I’m here. I’m staying.”

Scorpius holds on tighter and tries to steady his breathing. “Sorry,” he gasps finally, sitting up and bowing his head, a hand pressed to his chest.

“Don’t apologise.” Albus still looks slightly shell-shocked. He’s very pale and there’s deep worry in his eyes. “You were screaming, and... and thrashing around like you were in pain. What was the memory?”

“Lots of memories,” Scorpius says, avoiding his eyes. “About Mum, and Delphi and...”

“Me?” Albus supplies.

Scorpius nods and glances at him. “Some with you too. It’s like... the Pearl Dust has brought back all these bad bits from my life and now they’re stuck in my head, waiting to pounce whenever I go to sleep.”

“I’m sorry I’m responsible for some of the bad bits in your life,” Albus murmurs.

Scorpius shakes his head. “Let’s not talk about that.” He pushes a smile onto his face and wriggles in beside Albus so he can pull the blankets over their knees. Among all the writhing he’d been doing in his sleep and the hugging once he’d woken up, they’ve made a mess of all the bed clothes, and the duvet has ended up at the other end of the bed.

“I meant to ask you,” Scorpius says brightly, smoothing the blanket over his lap. “What animal is your Patronus?”

Albus frowns at him. “What? It’s not an animal. It’s sort of a silver mist.” He sighs. “It’s a miracle I can even produce that. A corporeal one is never going to happen for me. That’s my dad’s territory.”

“But I saw it,” Scorpius says. “Last night, when you sent me that message asking for help. It was an animal. Like a horse but too small. It looked like you.”

Albus pulls a face. “I look like a horse?”

“No that wasn’t what I- It felt like you?” Scorpius suggests. “I don’t know what I meant, but it was definitely you. Definitely your Patronus. There was something about it.”

“Are you absolutely sure?” Albus asks. “That it was an animal and not a blob of mist? You have just had a head injury...”

Scorpius shoots him a withering look. “Albus really. I mean really really. Memory difficulties don’t mean I can’t recognise an animal when I see one. I promise I’m not making this up.”

Albus holds his hands up in apology. “Okay. I was just checking, because...” He shakes his head and stares down at his hands. “It’s a really big thing. If I can really... it’s huge.” He looks at Scorpius, eyes big and round with amazement.

Scorpius squeezes his hand. “I know. I’m really proud of you.”

Albus gives a small, bright smile, that makes his eyes shine, and Scorpius leans over and kisses him, squeezing his hand. When they part, Scorpius slides down in bed, head resting on Albus’s shoulder.

“Since you asked,” he says, after a short while of silence. “I want you to know that the nightmare isn’t really real... It makes me think that you’re gone. Forever. But you’re not. You’re definitely not. You’re here, casting beautiful Patronuses, saving my life, and spending the night with me. That’s the truth, and my head can do whatever it does, but it’s the reality that counts.”

Albus swallows and looks at him. “It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt though. The imaginary. The past.”

Scorpius bobs his head in a noncommittal sort of way. “I get to wake up and see your face. The dreams might hurt but they can’t take that away.”

Albus squeezes his hand and looks him in the eye. “Once Delphi is gone I will always be here by your side when you wake up. You’ll always see my face, for as long as you want. I promise you that.”

Scorpius smiles and hugs him. “I’ll hold you to that.”

It’s only when he and Albus have curled up under the covers and Albus is already half asleep that he realises the significance of the qualifier in that. ‘Once Delphi is gone.’

“Albus?” Scorpius whispers into the darkness.

Albus mumbles something indistinct and hides his face in Scorpius’s chest. Scorpius sighs and strokes his hair, trying to ignore his misgivings. Albus is comfortable here. Albus is sleeping. Everything will be fine.

But as Scorpius drifts asleep he can’t shake the sense of foreboding weighing down on him, and when he wakes he realises he was right. He sits up, rubbing his eyes against the bright morning sunlight streaming into the room through the curtains he’d forgotten to close last night. The other side of the bed is empty, the sheets still crumpled, and when Scorpius touches it, it’s cold. This isn’t the bed left by someone who’s nipped to the toilet or to the kitchen. This is the bed of someone who’s tried to slip away unnoticed, and who’s done a good job of it because Scorpius isn’t a light sleeper.

As Scorpius scours the rest of the room the dreadful truth of it becomes inescapably clear. Albus has gone to fight Delphi alone.


	17. Pitch

_It’s the beginning of March and the first of the spring sun is just starting to break through the heavy snow clouds of February. Not that Harry has had much chance to experience this for himself – he’s been stuck at his desk at the Ministry, or doing nighttime investigations and sleeping through the days. March is his least favourite month, and he’s determined to see as little of it as possible._

_“Good morning, Mr Potter,” chirps his secretary, Emmeline, as she walks into the office backwards, a stack of files piled precariously in her arms._

_Harry sighs. “Those look like fun.”_

_Emmeline grimaces at him and puts the files down on the desk, on top of the small stack of files he hasn’t quite yet sorted from last month. “These are the cases up for review, sir. I’ve also got a couple of notes. Ginny wanted me to remind you that you’re supposed to be having dinner with Lily tonight, while she’s in London, so you have to leave on time. And this one is from Mr Howard. There’s been some suspicious activity in Godric’s Hollow. He reckons someone ought to take a look.”_

_Harry stops sorting through the files and looks up at her. “Suspicious activity?”_

_She nods and checks the note in her hand. “He says some of the sensors showed a human presence at the house, but when they looked into it all they could see was a bird. It’s happened a couple of times now, always the same thing, and last time the gate was opened.”_

_Harry nods, half listening but suddenly distracted by the file that’s currently at the top of the pile of paperwork. It’s easily the most well-read of the lot. The stiff cardboard of the folder has gone soft, and is curled and damaged at the corners. Harry knows that file and he doesn’t understand why it’s here among a load of forgotten and unprogressed cases._

_“Emmeline,” he says softly, picking up the file and showing it to her. “Why is this here?”_

_She doesn’t even look at the file, she just swallows and locks her hands together in front of her, launching into what Harry recognises as a well-rehearsed speech._

_“Sir, as you know it’s department protocol to review unresolved cases after five years and every subsequent year thereafter, to determine the significance of the progress being made and whether there should be any um... any reallocation of resources...” She trails off and bows her head, looking rather miserable. “It’s been five years, sir, and I discussed it with my supervisor but... but we couldn’t make an exception.” She looks like she’s bracing herself for some sort of outburst, anger or intense grief, or something. Harry wonders if perhaps he should be feeling any of those things, but he’s not. Right now he’s just numb. He can’t feel anything at all, apart from the soft, worn cardboard under his fingers as he toys with the edge of the folder._

_It takes him a second to be able to regain his power of speech, and when he does he nods. “Right. Of course. I understand.”_

_Five years. How has it been five years already?_

_“I’m sorry, sir,” she says again, but he shakes his head._

_“It’s okay.” It’s not okay. “You were saying something about Godric’s Hollow? Can I see the note?”_

_Emmeline hesitates, then she hands it over. “Here, sir.”_

_“Great,” Harry says as he takes it, injecting as much enthusiasm as he can into his voice. “I’ll head up and have a look this afternoon. And I’ll take a look at these...” he glances at the files, and shuffles Albus’s one straight to the bottom of the pile, “another day.”_

_“Don’t forget about dinner with Lily,” Emmeline says._

_Harry nods and gets to his feet, swinging his travelling cloak on. He wants to get as far away from that file as possible. Maybe he’ll even see some daylight in the process. “Dinner with Lily. Got it.”_

_In a straight choice between paperwork and visiting Godric’s Hollow, usually Harry would take the paperwork. It’s still a difficult place to be at the best of times, and this isn’t really the best of times. But if it’s a choice between investigating something weird away from the office or being stuck at his desk trying to make a rational decision about whether to stop investigating his son’s disappearance, he’ll take the something weird._

_It may be a sunny morning but it’s not warm. There’s a sharp wind blowing across the fields, and he gathers his travelling cloak tight around himself as he makes his way up the street towards the ruined house. It’s silhouetted against the bright sky, and he shields his eyes as he approaches, peering up at it._

_There’s nothing out of the ordinary that he can see immediately. The gate is closed as always. The street is quiet. There’s no sign of any disturbance to the tangle of plants growing across and around the front door. It looks like everything is perfectly ordinary._

_He wanders up to the gate and leans against the wall. There’s still a bit of unmelted snow in the shade by the base, pristine apart from a set of footprints that must have come from a small bird. They said there’d been a bird around, but they also said they’d detected a human..._

_Harry sighs and runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his face. It’s then that he spots it, out of the corner of his eye. In the dust on the path, right on a line with the bird claw prints, is a human footprint. Medium sized, with the sort of solidity that Harry would associate with having been made by a boot._

_He frowns and moves closer along the wall, leaning over to peer at the pattern. As far as he knows no one ever goes inside the garden. Why would there be a footprint there?_

_When he sets a hand on the gate it creaks slowly open, and he hesitates. It would be sensible to take a closer look, but there’s something about going inside that feels forbidden. Which is stupid. This is his former home. If anyone is allowed inside then it’s him... Throwing caution to the wind, he nudges the gate further open and steps inside._

_There’s a spell to hide footprints, and he uses that now. The last thing he wants is to mar the other tracks that have been left. He carefully skirts the footprint on the ground, peering down at it as he passes, and starts scouring the dusty path for more similar footprints._

_There aren’t any to be found. The rest of the path is unmarked, apart from a couple more claw marks from a bird that must have hopped down here while looking for worms. Everything looks undisturbed and as it should. No one has tried to force entry into the house. It doesn’t look any more damaged than it always has done. There’s nothing to see._

_He turns away to go back to the road, but when he does he finds finds his path blocked. Not by a person or even an animal, but by a bird. A black bird._

_It’s a bit like a crow, but larger, and its gaze is very sharp and intelligent. There’s something unnerving about the way it’s looking at him, like it’s studying him._

_“Shoo,” he says, waving a hand at it, but it doesn’t move. It just sits there, wings folded, gazing unblinkingly up at him through beady black eyes._

_“I don’t have any food,” Harry says. “If you want that there are plenty of worms.”_

_It‘s taken him a second, but now he realises he recognises the bird. It’s an Augurey. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen one outside Care of Magical Creatures classes before._

_“What do you want?” He asks, and it lets out a piercing cry. The cry is so sorrowful, cutting right to his heart. It sounds like a sob. It reminds him the cry of a Phoenix, but instead of the noise warming him up, it makes him feel very cold and uneasy inside._

_He shivers and flaps at the bird again._

_“Come on. Move. Go and get some worms.”_

_The bird still doesn’t move, and as its cry resonates through Harry he feels something very unsettling. His forehead prickles, in a way it hasn’t done in a very long time. It prickles, and then, without warning, a spike of pain slices through his head and he lets out a yelp._

_The cry frightens the bird, which takes flight, wings beating loudly as it spirals up into the blue sky. Harry blinks the pain away and stares up at it, confused and a little bit afraid._

_He looks around at the house and grounds, but there’s no one and nothing to see. No more birds, no people. He’s alone, and it suddenly dawns on him that he feels as though he’s being watched. Coming here was, as it always seems to be, a very bad idea._

_He marches back down the path, shuts the gate behind him, and resolves to ask one of the Aurors to stake it out for a few days. With that decision made he considers whether to go back to the office, but the mountain of paperwork with Albus’s file at the bottom looms large in his head._

_No. He’ll go home and get ready for dinner with Lily. That’s the most sensible thing to do. It’s the only way to stop today being an unmitigated disaster._

_He rubs his forehead, turns his back on the house, and sets off for his Apparition point, feeling that March can’t end soon enough, and it’s only just begun._

“Albus is gone,” Scorpius says, clattering into his dad’s office out of breath and zinging with frantic energy.

Draco looks up from the auction paper he’s reading and turns to look at Scorpius over the top of his reading glasses. “Albus is gone? How do you know? Have you been to his place already this morning?”

Scorpius shakes his head. “No. He was in bed with me when I went to sleep and by the time I woke up he was gone. I think he’s gone to fight Delphi alone.”

His dad pauses for a moment, and Scorpius expects him to make some comment about the fact that Albus has been sleeping with Scorpius under his roof, but he doesn’t. Instead he removes his reading glasses and looks Scorpius in the eye. “Have you checked the kitchen? You know Albus enjoys his morning coffee.”

Scorpius swallows and shakes his head. “N-no. I haven’t. I just assumed...”

Draco gets to his feet. “Check the kitchen. He might also have gone out into the grounds. I’ll go and talk to the gates. If he’s left they’ll know.”

“I could go to the gates instead,” Scorpius says, bouncing anxiously from foot to foot. “It’s chilly outside, and-“

“And you were discharged from hospital yesterday morning,” Draco says sternly. “You’re supposed to be resting. I’ll check the gates, you check the kitchen.”

“Fine,” Scorpius mutters. He turns and hurries down to the kitchen, heart racing in his chest. He knows even before he opens the door that Albus won’t be there, but part of him still hopes...

The kitchen is deserted. Draco’s newspaper is neatly folded in the middle of the table, there are two mugs on the draining board left from the pre-bed cocoa they’d had last night, all the chairs are tucked away just as they’d left them, and the window is letting in a gentle morning breeze. It’s just the way the kitchen is every morning. But this isn’t every morning. _This_ morning Albus is gone, and if Delphi has any say in it, he might not come back.

Scorpius sinks into one of the chairs by the table and sits there, fidgeting anxiously and staring at the door. Why is his dad taking so long? The gates aren’t that far away surely... He should have gone too, then he wouldn’t have to wait. Sitting here in the warm kitchen and worrying is doing far worse for his head than a brisk walk in the cool morning air would have done.

Upstairs he hears the front door slam and he jumps to his feet and starts sprinting up to the hall. He runs straight into his dad who catches him and steadies him.

“What did I say about resting?”

Scorpius shakes his head in a breathless tide of anxiety. “That’s not important. What did the gates say?”

Draco’s expression goes hard as steel. “He left by the front gates an hour and a half ago. I’d assume he Apparated somewhere.”

“Then we need to go,” Scorpius says, trying to rush past his dad and make a break for the entrance hall. “We’re wasting time. Come on.”

Draco blocks him with a hand on his shoulder. “No. We are going nowhere. We’ll contact Harry, and the Aurors will do their jobs.”

“Because they did such a phenomenal job of finding him last ti-“ He breaks off mid-sarcastic sentence with a whimper of pain as a memory spikes through his head.

He buries his face in his hands and digs his fingers into his forehead as he sees Harry standing behind the desk in his office. His face is livid with rage, and even though it’s like the sound has been turned right down on the memory, like a silent, moving photograph, Scorpius knows what he’s saying.

“You should have tried harder, Scorpius. You’re his best friend, you’re the last person he saw. If you’d done better maybe you could have convinced him to stay.”

Scorpius had bowed his head and taken it, but inside he’d been screaming. ‘It’s not my fault that you can’t find him. He didn’t want to stay, and that wasn’t because of me. If he doesn’t want to be found then he won’t be.’

“Scorpius.” Draco’s sharp, worried voice swims across the distance to Scorpius, who suddenly becomes aware that he’s not in Harry’s office anymore. He’s on the stairs in his own house, clinging to his dad as tears run down his face and his head aches.

“Dad,” he whispers.

“Sit down.”

Scorpius nods and sinks onto the stairs. He’s shaking all over, and it’s all he can do to bury his face in his knees and try to stop himself crying. His head really does hurt a lot.

“Another memory?” Draco asks.

“Yes,” Scorpius whispers in a small, unsteady voice.

“What was it?” His dad asks, kneeling on the step below and squeezing his shoulder.

Scorpius wipes his eyes. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It certainly looks like it matters.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “I need to see Harry. Please, Dad. It’s really important.”

His dad gives him a long, hard look, his lips a thin, forbidding line that Scorpius is certain is about to turn into a no. After several seconds though, Draco nods. “Alright. Fine. Better we do this together than you run off on your own. But I should be taking you to St Mungo’s.”

“I know,” Scorpius says. “When we’ve found Albus I promise I’ll go and lie down in a nice dark room and rest for as long as you want.”

“First,” Draco says grimly, “we all have to survive that long.”

Albus has only felt this nervous about going to the training ground once before in his life. The very first time he came here he’d been petrified of what he’d find inside. He’d turned up with his broom and his kit bag, and Delphi had met him at the gate. That day had gone so much better than he’d expected, but he suspects that this morning will be a very different prospect.

It’s still a bit chilly, but Albus’s hand is sweating as he clutches his broom. The kitbag is cutting into his injured shoulder, and it’s taking all he’s got to keep from wincing because he can’t show what he’s done. Chances are that Delphi already knows that he’s turned against her, but on the slim chance that she hasn’t, he can’t give her any clues. After what she did to Scorpius, he knows it’s life or death.

He nudges the gate open and slips inside, kicking it closed behind him. There aren’t many people around, and those that are there stop what they’re doing and stare at him.

“Sev,” Jamal calls as he skims down towards Albus. “Long time no see. We thought you were never coming back.”

Albus forces a smile. “Just taking a week off. Is Delphi around? I heard she was looking for me.”

Jamal’s expression goes black. “You don’t want to see her, she’s been in a temper all week. But yes, I think she was looking for you. She should be around later.”

Albus sighs. “Great. I suppose I’ll wait for her then.” He dumps his bag on the floor and rolls his stinging shoulder.

“Is that an injury?” Jamal asks, eyeing him. “Might we have a chance against you for once?”

“Oh.” Albus stops rolling his shoulder. “A little bit I guess. Sometimes the burns make my arm hurt. They’re worse today, but nothing for anyone to get excited about.” He lays his broom out in the air, keen to get flying so he doesn’t have to talk anymore. “See you up there.”

He mounts up, kicks off from the ground, and soars skywards. Normally as soon as he gets in the air all his troubles float away, but this isn’t a normal day. Today he can hardly fly straight because he keeps glancing at the gate, braced for the moment when Delphi will appear and everything will change. Today everything is weighing him down with such force that it’s a miracle he can get off the ground at all. Today, for probably the first time since he arrived here seven years ago, he’s afraid of falling.

By the time Delphi walks through the gate, he’s worked himself up into such a state of anxiety that it’s almost a relief to see her. She’s so small, but that silver and blue hair would stand out anywhere. Her expression is like thunder this morning. She doesn’t glance up as she marches to her office, and Albus assumes she’s not expecting to see him. He decides that if she hasn’t noticed him then he’s going to have to go to her.

He hesitates for a second, steeling himself, then he floats back to the ground, aware of every eye on him. Normally he’d leave his broom propped against the clubhouse wall, but today he needs the moral support, so he takes it with him. He glances back as he crosses to the door, and spots Jamal giving him a thumbs up from the air. Albus responds with a shaky smile, then he breathes in, exhales slowly, and goes inside to find Delphi.

A door down the corridor bangs shut as he enters, and he immediately sets off towards it. It’s not hard to follow her in here because the space is so small. At one point the clubhouse was probably just one room, maybe used as a bar or a storeroom, but now it’s been divided up into a pair of changing rooms and a couple of offices. The league has easily outgrown the clubhouse now, but there’s never been a hint of it being extended or renovated. If Albus were in charge it’s one of the first things he would do.

Albus makes his way down the narrow corridor, which reeks of sweat and Fiendfyre smoke, until he gets to the offices. The one on the left of the corridor is deserted, so Albus quietly pushes open the door on the right, and there she is. She’s got her back to him and her head is bowed as she reads something laid out on the desk.

Albus had forgotten how her presence feels. It’s like electricity. She’s one of those people who you know is in a room even if you haven’t seen her. She crackles with an enticing energy. Maybe that was why it was so easy for him to fall for her. Maybe he didn’t have a choice.

Her wand is resting on the desk, and her fingers are loose on the handle, twisting it round and round. That’s how he knows that she knows he’s there. Her shoulders are tight, and he can feel her waiting for him to make the first move. He knows it has to be a good one. She could probably kill him without a second’s hesitation if she wanted to.

“Delphi,” Albus whispers, deciding to start with her name because he doesn’t know what else to say. He just hopes he sounds contrite and not afraid.

“I thought I told you we were done?” She doesn’t look up at him, but her tone is like ice.

He swallows and bows his head. “I-I heard you were looking for me.”

“Three days ago,” she says, turning the page of the newspaper she’s reading.

“I was busy,” Albus says, before realising that he was meant to use that opening to grovel, not to make more excuses.

“With Scorpius.” Delphi finally lifts her head and turns to look at him. Her eyes are impenetrably black.

Albus avoids her gaze and shakes his head. “No. I mean yes. Yes I was. But I also remembered what you said. About... about not wanting to see me anymore. I didn’t know what to do.”

There’s so much truth in all this that Albus doesn’t really feel like he’s lying at all. The only thing he’s concealing is the depth of his anger with her.

“And do you know what to do now?” Delphi asks, still spinning her wand between her fingers. “Did you have plenty of time to reflect with your precious Scorpius?”

Albus nods. “Yes, thank you. I did. I thought about things, and now... Well, now I’m here. I hope that tells you something about my decision.”

She scrutinises him for a moment, and he looks at her but carefully avoids her eyes as he does.

He can tell, right there and then, that she knows what’s going on inside his head. What’s really going on. And he can tell that she knows that he knows. But for some reason that’s not nearly as terrifying a thought as it should be. At least he knows where he stands, and if she’s willing to play along then he’s safe, at least temporarily.

“Who told you I was looking for you?” Delphi asks, turning back to her newspaper and folding it shut.

“Gareth,” he says, taking a step closer. “If he hadn’t told me I’d never have known.”

“Well I’m glad my message got through.” She slides the newspaper out of the way and hops up onto the table, feet swinging beneath her. “I wanted to talk to you about some plans.”

Albus frowns, caught off guard. “Plans? You never tell me your plans.”

“I know,” she says brightly, shuffling to the side and patting the desk to her right. “And I thought it was about time I started.”

Apprehensive, Albus goes across to her. He doesn’t sit on the table, but stays standing opposite her. They’re playing a game, he knows that, but only she knows the rules, and he doesn’t trust her enough to properly play along.

“Go on,” he says, folding his arms. “What are your plans?”

She beams at him, eyes glittering, and he recognises that smile. He’s seen it countless times over the years. It’s the smile she gets when she’s thought of something she knows he’s going to love. The sight of that smile makes his insides swoop, because even though he knows everything is over, that smile has always meant hope and happiness, and he can’t quite quell the tide of excitement rushing through him.

“I’ve been thinking about America,” she says.

“America?” He asks. He hadn’t been expecting that.

“Yes,” She chirps. “America. Like the country.”

He can’t help but smile, and he leans against the table, relaxing into the easy patter that they’ve always had between them. “America isn’t a country, Delphi. It’s a lot of countries.”

She rolls her eyes. “You sound like that boy. I meant the United States, obviously. Look.” She raises a hand and swipes it through the air, and from nowhere, moving pictures dance across the room.

There’s a ginormous bowl of a stadium, packed with people, far bigger than any Quidditch stadium Albus has ever seen, and tiny figures on broomsticks race and weave back and forth through a blazing course of fire.

“It’s not illegal over there,” she says. “There would be no more running, no more hiding. You could be a star. A real star. The riches, the fame, the glory. Your father isn’t as well known over there either. You could be yourself. Completely yourself. Albus Severus Potter, the star broom racer.”

Albus stares at the images in awe. There’s a relay team, a group of four racers, holding a cup aloft, surrounded by thousands of people all chanting their names. There’s a racer who dives so fast they’re almost a blur, like a streaking comet. Albus can’t help but wonder if he could dive that fast, or that low to the ground. Could he beat that? Could he be as brave? As fearless?

No. The answer hits him. No he couldn’t. Because it’s not just him anymore. He’s got his family to think about, and Scorpius. Racing isn’t his life. He doesn’t want it to be. And going to America would mean walking away from everything he’s worked so hard to build.

He turns his back on Delphi and walks across the room, shattering the images she’s projecting. “I can’t,” he says.

She folds her arms. “You can’t?”

He shakes his head. “No. I-I can’t go to America. I don’t want to race anymore. I’m done.”

“You’re done?” She echoes, in a far more mild tone than she would if this were more than a game.

He nods and turns back to her. “Yes. Done. Just like you said. No more racing. No more... no more us. I want it to be over.”

For a moment Delphi sits there, gaze hawklike, sharp and cruel as she stares at him. Finally she gets to her feet and walks towards him. “Alright then. But first I want an answer. What’s that on your shoulder?”

Instinctively Albus reaches back for his aching shoulder. He doesn’t touch it, but when he rests his hand just above the injury he realises that the neck of his t-shirt isn’t quite covering the bandage. Whatever game they were playing, he’s just lost.

“I don’t know,” he lies. “I mean... the burns have been spreading a bit, so-“

“You don’t cover a Fiendfyre burn with a bandage,” she says, eyes flashing dangerously. “You’re a liar, Albus Severus Potter.” And then she’s right next to him, and as she grips his shoulder she makes sure to dig her fingers right into the wound on his shoulder blade.

He lets out a scream of pain and his knees buckle. He collapses to the ground, and only once he’s kneeling there does she let go, laughing.

“Not as smart as you like to think, or as brave.” She crouches down behind him and plucks his shirt away from his shoulder. “What have you done here?”

He drags in a breath past his gritted teeth and lifts his head. “The wings. I got rid of them. Because I didn’t want _you_ anywhere near me ever again.”

She plucks the bandage away from his skin. “Oh. It’s bleeding. You’ve done a beautiful job on that, haven’t you?”

“Thanks,” he mutters, glaring at her.

She smooths his t-shirt back into place and leaves her hand on his shoulder, putting enough pressure on to make it intensely uncomfortable, but not enough for him to react. “I knew we’d drifted,” she murmurs, “but I never thought you’d go this far. Oh, Albus.” She runs a finger down his cheek and he twists his head away. She laughs and slaps him hard across the face instead, so he falls to the floor, dazed.

“Now you’re here,” she says brightly, getting to her feet and looking down at him, “I need something from you.”

“I’m not giving you anything,” he spits, lifting his head off the floor and trying to scramble upright.

“Hear me out before you decide not to help.” She paces the length of the room, twirling her wand in the air so it’s in constant view. It looks as menacing as she clearly means it to. “I want you to tell your dear father that you’re in trouble.”

“No.” Albus struggles to sit up. “I won’t. I won’t help you.”

“You don’t want someone to come and help you?” Delphi asks, spinning to face him.

Albus shakes his head. “I’d rather you just killed me.”

Delphi sighs. “I thought you might say that. You’re going to regret it.”

Albus lifts his chin and fixes her with the most defiant glare he can muster. “Do your worst.”

A slow smile spreads across her face as she levels her wand at him. “I will.” She raises a hand and swipes it through the air once again. Where before the image of the racing in America had appeared, now there’s an unsteady image of Malfoy Manor.

“Your boyfriend is in there,” she says conversationally. “I’ve got people watching him. If you don’t do as you’re told...” She trails off with a shrug, and Albus stares up at her.

“What are you going to do to him?”

“Nothing.” She crouches down and rests the tip of her wand just under his chin. “As long as you tell your father where you are.”

Albus weighs it up in his head. If she wants Harry then he can’t call for help. He simply can’t do it. She can kill him before she touches his dad. And if she kills Scorpius then she no longer has any leverage over him. So he doesn’t have to obey. Not yet. He can stall until his dad realises he’s missing and comes up with a plan.

“No,” he says, looking her right in the eye. “I won’t.”

She blinks at him. “You won’t?”

Albus holds his ground and shakes his head. “No.”

“Very well then.” She raises a hand and the image of Malfoy Manor dissolves, leaving the room empty, the air blank, with no connection to the outside world. “I suppose you’ve given me some work to do then. But first,” she grips hold of his arm, fingers biting into the burned, prickling skin and drags him roughly to his feet with enough strength that he doesn’t have any choice but to get up. “I’m going to take you somewhere nice and quiet, where you can have a little think about what you’ve just done to the boy you supposedly love so much.” And she twists sideways, wrenching him with her, and Disapparates.

“What do you mean, he’s disappeared?” Harry asks, glaring at Draco.

Draco draws in a very patient breath and raises his eyes to the sky. “I mean, he’s gone. He left the Manor this morning while we were asleep. Isn’t that correct, Scorpius?”

Scorpius is standing in the corner of Harry’s office, trying to stay out of the firing line. His head is hurting too much for an argument, and Harry is like a Dr Filibuster Firework on a rainy day – liable to explode at any second.

He hugs himself and nods. “Right. I woke up and he was gone.”

Harry’s temper fizzes. “Why didn’t you wake up when he left?”

“I suppose I was tired,” Scorpius says, trying to keep a bite of anger out of his voice. “I’m-“

“He’s supposed to be resting,” his dad cuts in. “Of course he didn’t wake up. He’s sick. He needs sleep.”

Harry nods. “So for the second time in your life you let Albus just leave, and now we have no idea where he is, if he’s alive, or how to get him back. For the _second_ time.”

“He would have left if I’d been awake or not!” Scorpius says, clenching his fists, heat rising inside him. “He’s Albus. If he wants to walk out on you he’ll do it, even if he loves you. That’s what he does.”

“That’s what he does to _you_ ,” Harry snaps back.

Anger blazes inside Scorpius and the pain in his head flares into a white hot spike. He feels sick and dizzy and he wants to hex Harry, but he knows that what he needs is to go and find some fresh air. Getting sent to Azkaban because he can’t control himself is going to help no one.

“I’m going for a walk,” he says. “My head hurts.”

Draco nods, and as Scorpius leaves he realises that his dad has his wand drawn, as does Harry. Apparently his dad has no qualms about being sent to Azkaban. He doesn’t know if that’s comforting or not.

The halls of the Ministry are about as quiet as they ever are on a weekday morning. Most people are at their desks, but a handful of people wander the corridors, bustling from place to place or dragging their feet to prolong the time spent out of the office. Artificial light streams through the fake windows set into the underground walls, mimicking the blue sky and bright sunshine that must be blazing down on the street overhead. Scorpius wishes it were less bright, because the light isn’t helping with his headache.

He reaches the lift at the end of the hall and gets in, leaning his back against the wall and bowing his head. It’s just him and a flock of Ministry memos, which swirl around him, rustling with an air of self-importance. He swats a couple away when they get too close and jabs at the button for the Atrium.

The lift zooms upwards, and no one stops it on the ascent. At the Atrium level, the metal grille opens and Scorpius gets out, the cloud of memos zooming away above his head.

It’s much cooler up here, and far more spacious. The Law Enforcement floor is always stuffy and uncomfortable; the department expands at such a rate that there are never quite enough desks and always far too many people, and because the Aurors’ training gym is on the same floor, the whole department smells faintly of sweat. It’s that sort of thing that makes Scorpius long for the cold, cavernous rooms and musty, ancient smell of the Department of Mysteries far below.

He sets off across the Atrium, enjoying the gentle coolness of the air on his face, and he’s careful to skirt close by the fountain in the middle of the room, which showers him with a fine spray of water.

As he crosses to the fireplace that will take him up to the street above, he realises that leaving his dad and Harry alone together probably wasn’t the best idea in the world. If he comes back down in a minute and finds them both alive and whole it’ll be a minor miracle. But he can’t help but feel a little bit that Harry deserves it. He should know Albus better by now, especially after everything. He should know that this is different. This isn’t Albus running away, this is Albus being stupid and noble and every bit a Potter. There’s no way Harry can honestly say he wouldn’t have done exactly the same thing if he’d been in Albus’s position.

Scorpius shakes his head and steps into the nearest fireplace. The dancing emerald flames, a pleasant and welcome warmth for most of the year, are uncomfortable and prickly in the heat, and it’s a relief to finally start spinning upwards. He squeezes his eyes shut and tucks his elbow in, until finally, with a gurgling sound, he comes to a halt standing in the bowl of a toilet.

He hops out, nudges the door open, and glances around. The coast is clear. No other Ministry workers are coming or going at this time and the Muggles all think this place is out of order. He’s careful slipping out onto the street, but really it’s an easy and smooth exit from work.

The sun bakes the quiet, dusty street. Scorpius sticks in the shade, and is immensely grateful for the gentle breeze ruffling past. His head has started to ache less, and he pauses to lean against the brick wall of one of the buildings on either side.

He closes his eyes and rests his head against the brickwork. It’s only taken a second with a clearer head to realise that he needs to go back and actually talk to Harry. They need to plan and come up with a list of places to look for Albus. It shouldn’t be that hard – Albus will either have gone to The Scythe to confront Delphi there or he’ll be at the training ground. This isn’t like last time. They can act. They can help. They’re not in the dark now.

Scorpius massages his temples and steels himself to head back down into the hot interior of the Ministry. The last thing he needs is to walk into the middle of a duel between his dad and Harry. He might have to be ready to break that up...

With a sigh he pushes off the building and opens his eyes. It’s then that he sees the person standing on the corner of the street, wand drawn, looking at him. Scorpius fumbles for his own wand, but he’s too slow. Before he’s even found the handle the Stunning Spell has hit him and the world has gone black.

“When are you going to stop?” Draco asks, tone dangerously frosty.

Harry clenches his fingers tighter around his wand and doesn’t lower it an inch. He also doesn’t say a word.

“When are you going to stop,” Draco repeats, “blaming my son for Albus’s skittishness? It’s not our fault that he’s his father’s son through and through.”

“What does that mean?” Harry growls.

“It means that no matter what anyone says he won’t see sense. It means he’s reckless, Potter, a law unto himself. If Scorpius can’t stop him then no one can. That should be obvious by now.”

Harry glares at him. “It sounds like you’re blaming me. Which might have been fair in the past but not this time. This time I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “I’m not saying you have. The only thing you’ve done this time is to blame Scorpius, _again_ , for something he can’t possibly control – Albus’s character.”

“Scorpius had a chance to stop him!” Harry gestures to the door. “Scorpius was there. Albus trusts him, loves him. He might have listened. And anyway, Scorpius spends more time with him than anyone else. He should have realised this was going to happen!”

“It was obvious this was going to happen,” Draco scoffs. “To everyone except you, because you _still_ don’t know your son.”

A flash of red light streaks across the room, and Draco reacts without thinking.

“Protego!”

Harry’s spell ricochets up and hits the ceiling light, which shatters, plunging them both into darkness.

“Rictusempra.” Draco aims the Tickling Charm at the spot where Harry was, but as the silver jet shoots across the room and blasts a chunk out of the wall, it’s clear that Harry has ducked well out of the way, and he’s already aiming his next spell.

He doesn’t say anything, just flicks his wand, and Draco crouches down, using the desk to block the spell this time. All the paper on the desk explodes upwards into the air as the spell hits, sending a shower of papers cascading around them, and when Draco sends his next spell it sets fire to a couple of the papers as it streaks across the room.

Harry flicks his wand and extinguishes the flames effortlessly, so the charred papers drop as a cloud of ash to the floor. “I’d rather you didn’t set fire to my office, thanks.”

Draco grins. “I thought you didn’t like paperwork?”

“I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I want you to burn it.”

“You were the one who tried to Hex me,” Draco points out, waving his wand to return all the papers to their haphazard piles on the desk. “There, your papers are all better. Do you think we could possibly have a civilised conversation now?”

Harry lowers his wand. “Possibly.”

Draco hesitates for a moment, then lowers his as well. “Good.” He waits until Harry has pocketed his wand before he tucks his into his robes and folds his arms. “I think we should stop fighting about why anyone left anywhere and concentrate on finding your son. Can we agree on that at least.”

“We can,” Harry mutters. He pushes his glasses up his nose and glances around. “Should we call Scorpius back? I’m sure he’ll want to help.”

Draco nods, draws his wand again, thinks of Scorpius giddy with joy about something – probably Albus – and summons his Patronus. The silver shape prowls through the air, and sits on Harry’s desk, its tail wrapped round it, staring unblinkingly at Draco.

“I need you to go and fetch Scorpius,” Draco says. “Tell him we’ve stopped fighting and we’re ready to find Albus.”

The Patronus uncurls its tail, turns a circle on the desk, then stops and stares at Draco. It doesn’t disappear like it should, it just stands there, unmoving, then it switches its tail back and forth and seems to shake its head.

“Did you hear-“

The Patronus sits down on the desk and starts licking its paws. Exasperated, Draco looks at Harry.

“It’s not listening.”

“Maybe you’re not being authoritative enough,” Harry says, and Draco glowers as he spots the hint of a smile on Harry’s lips.

“This isn’t a laughing matter. And it’s my Patronus. It’s supposed to do what I want.”

“Why don’t I have a go.” Harry draws his wand, and Draco folds his arms and watches as the stag appears in the middle of the room, enormous and dazzling.

“We need to find Scorpius,” Harry tells it. “Can you tell him to come back down here now?”

The stag pauses for a moment, then takes a step back, lowering its head and flicking its ears. It shows no signs of disappearing, and Harry lowers his wand, frowning.

“Maybe you need to be a bit more authoritative, Potter,” Draco suggests in a mocking voice.

Harry ignores him and scratches his head. “I don’t understand. The only reason they wouldn’t deliver a message is if Scorpius is...”

“Unconscious,” Draco finishes.

Harry nods. “Or dead.”

“But,” Draco cuts in, “he only left the room three minutes ago, so he can’t be either of those things.”

“It’s the Ministry. He should be safe. He works here. I suppose unless he went outside, or...” He looks at the stag again. “You’re completely sure you can’t reach him?”

The stag paws the ground, then tosses its magnificent head, and Harry sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Alright then. How about this.” He gives his wand a sharp upward flick, and immediately the office is full of a myriad of lights and traces and images, hundreds of them, a confusing jumble of information that Draco can’t imagine being able to make sense of. Harry seems to know what he’s doing though, because he strides among them, inspecting some of them and ignoring others.

“What is this?” Draco asks, looking at an image of an empty street hanging by his left elbow, beside a streak of gold that keeps flashing back and forth across a patch of air about ten centimetres across.

“Security,” Harry says. “Sensors, detectors, all sorts. I can find out if anyone left, see which entrances they used, and try and spot Scorpius. It shouldn’t be too hard. It’s the middle of the day so not many people will be coming and going.”

Draco looks around at the mess of signals and images. “Where do we start?”

Harry points to one image over by the door. “The Atrium. Look, there’s a trace at the staff entrance.” He gestures to a blip on one of the dozens of surveillance charts, then directs his wand at the image of the Atrium and gives it a flick. The image enlarges, and a second later Draco finds himself watching as Scorpius walks across the Atrium to one of the fireplaces and goes zooming out of sight.

“He must have gone up for fresh air.” Draco glances at Harry. “Do you have a view of the street?”

“Of course.” Another wave of Harry’s wand and they’re looking at a moving image of the street. Scorpius leaves the out-of-order toilet, the door swinging shut behind him. He goes and leans against one wall, burying his face in his hands. It takes Draco a second after that to notice the masked person standing on the street corner, watching him.

“Look,” he whispers, pointing to him, and Harry nods grimly.

“I know.”

For a few seconds after that they stand in silence, then Scorpius looks up and starts walking back inside and at the same time the figure acts. The Stunning Spell happens so fast that it seems to come from nowhere. One second Scorpius is fine, next second he’s crumpled to the ground and the person rushes over, takes hold of his arm, and Disapparates.

“When I find Delphi,” Draco murmurs, “I’m going to kill her.”

Harry tightens his grip on his wand and nods. “I might join you.”

He dismisses the surveillance spells with a quick gesture and goes back behind his desk.

Draco walks up to the desk and leans both hands on it, looking at Harry. “How do we find out where Scorpius is now? And can we assume that Albus will be there too?”

“We can’t necessarily assume that,” Harry says. “There might be a reason for keeping them apart. But I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

“Excellent,” Draco mutters, turning in an agitated circle. “So what do we do?”

Harry hesitates. Draco can see the flicker of doubt in his eyes, and the calculating flash that briefly mars his gaze. It’s instantly clear that he knows exactly how they’ll find Scorpius but that he doesn’t want to say it for some stupid reason.

Draco levels his wand at Harry. “Say it, Potter. What do we do?”

Harry swallows. “I can find out where Scorpius is. But you might not...” He sighs and ruffles his hair. “Don’t Hex me, but we put a trace on Scorpius.”

Draco stares at Harry in shock for a moment, then he curls his fingers tighter round the handle of his wand and gives Harry the hardest, coldest look he can muster. “If you really don’t want me to Hex you, you’d better have a fantastic reason for that.”

“After what happened,” Harry says, sinking into the chair behind his desk. “After what happened to Scorpius at The Scythe, I thought it would be useful to be able to track him. If he was using defensive spells he might be in trouble. We could see where he was Apparating to whenever he did that. It wasn’t mistrust, it was for his protection, because he was never going to agree to stop investigating and nothing else worked.”

“Does that mean we can find him now?” Draco asks, deciding to reserve judgement until he knows how useful this invasion into his son’s privacy is going to be.

“Well,” Harry says, scratching his head. “We have to wait for him to do magic.”

“Brilliant,” Draco snaps. “When he’s just been captured and inevitably Disarmed.”

Harry shrugs. “It spots natural magic too, you know, magic caused by emotion. And say he tried to resist a spell without his wand, say he did Occlumency or tried to throw off an Imperius curse, we’d see that as well. I’d say that’s most likely.”

“If he’s capable of resistance still,” Draco mutters darkly. He turns around and paces across the room. “So we’re waiting and hoping. Brilliant, Potter. I can clearly see how you saved the world so many times when that is your grand strategy.”

“Well I’d love to hear your better solution.”

Draco shrugs. “Start at Albus’s training ground and go from there? At least we’ll be doing something.”

“Fine,” Harry says, plucking his jacket from the back of his chair as he gets to his feet. “The training ground it is. And maybe after that we can drop by some of the places we know she’s frequented recently.”

“You’re a paragon of strategic brilliance,” Draco says. “Let’s go.”

Albus is in a broom cupboard. It’s too dark to see, but he can smell the warm, dark scent of varnish, and he can feel the bristles of twigs against his arms, which is comforting even though his own broom has been taken from him when he arrived, along with his wand.

Delphi has dragged his hands behind his back and bound them with a spell that burns and blisters his skin every time he moves an inch. As a consequence he’s now sitting very still and trying to work out how to get out of this place.

The strange thing is that despite being captive, and despite Delphi doing something unknown and unspeakable to Scorpius, he doesn’t feel scared. He’s always felt at home hiding in a broom cupboard. It’s a familiar environment, his safe place, and nothing can touch him here. Not just that, but the intense darkness means there’s nothing to do but sit and think, and thinking means that he can plan.

He already knows that Delphi is going to come back for him at some point. She needs him, she’s barely hurt him so far, and she’ll want to show off whatever it is she’s done to Scorpius. Not just that but she’s left him in a broom cupboard, which is full of potential weapons – not just the brooms themselves but tubs of powder, varnish, twig clippers, files, all sorts. He just has to find some in the darkness and get ready for her.

It’s not easy when he’s trying not to move too much, but he starts feeling around the floor. He keeps his wrists pressed carefully together, so he doesn’t get burned by the spell binding them, and pats at the ground. There’s a lot of dust and grit down there, nothing much in the way of tools, and he wriggles backwards, reaching as far as his shoulders will let him until his fingers skim over the sharp twigs of broom tails. A broom isn’t exactly subtle or easy to handle with both hands tied behind his back, so he keeps shifting around and searching the ground for something else.

Thankfully, Delphi hasn’t bound his legs, so he manages to stumble to his feet. He’s been sitting so long that they’ve gone all tingly and numb, and he loses his footing and falls against the wall. The impact jars his body, makes the fiery cuffs sear into his wrists, and sends brooms clattering to the ground. Instantly he freezes, eyes squeezed tight shut against the pain and waiting for any sign that someone outside might have heard. After a couple of minutes of stillness and silence he decides that he’s probably safe, and he starts trying to scour the shelves for anything he can find.

There are one or two broom servicing kits; he feels the leather bound cases and his heart leaps. With some careful manoeuvring and painful twisting of his arms, he manages to get one of the kits open, and he’s rewarded with the cool metal of tweezers, clippers, a small knife, and a couple of sharp edged files. Heart leaping with excitement, Albus picks up the clippers, knife, and files, and sinks back onto the ground, this time with his knees under him.

It takes a lot more wriggling to get the clippers and files into one sock, his jeans pocket, and the inside lining of his jacket. The knife he keeps concealed in his hand, fingers clenched round it, and he sets about waiting for Delphi to come back.

It feels like forever before the door clicks, and Albus has been on edge the whole time, knowing he has only seconds to act when the moment comes. He throws himself to his feet and rushes at Delphi exactly as she opens the door. Knife in hand, he swings round blindly, hoping that he hits something. Unfortunately her reflexes are quick, far quicker than Albus had expected, and in an instant she’s grabbed Albus’s wrist and twisted it so he’s forced to drop the knife. It clatters uselessly to the floor and she grins at him.

“Nice try, Sev. You really are resourceful. But sadly predictable.”

He twists his body round and spits at her, aiming for her face, but he misses, and she laughs and does something to the bindings on his wrists that makes them burn with excruciating, sharp heat. He yells in pain and sinks to his knees, gasping.

Delphi bends down and presses her lips to his ear, whispering to him. “I’d recommend behaving. Do you think that sounds like a good suggestion?”

He nods and hangs his head, and she shoves him away so he sprawls onto the ground. She stands over him, pointing her wand.

“Accio weapons.”

The clippers and files all go flying from Albus’s clothing and into her hand, and he grits his teeth, frustrated but not surprised.

“There we go,” Delphi sing songs. “That’s better. You might consider behaving if you don’t have those. I’d hate for you to be tempted to do something stupid. Now, get up.” She jerks her wand upwards and Albus is dragged irresistibly to his feet, wrists on fire. As soon as he’s upright, Delphi grabs him by the arm and starts marching him down the corridor.

“Where are we going?” He asks.

“To see your boyfriend,” she replies, tone bright and bubbly, as if she’s simply announcing that they’re all going to have coffee together.

Albus’s stomach clenches. Scorpius is here. That’s not good. If Scorpius is here then he’s probably already hurt...

“What have you done to him?” He asks, glaring at Delphi. “Have you hurt him?”

“Not yet. Stop asking questions.” She directs her wand at him, and next second he realises that he can’t make a sound. He clenches his mouth shut and glares at the floor, hating every second of this.

She walks him down the corridor. It’s a corridor like the one in every stadium, running the full perimeter of the pitch below ground, but Albus knows exactly which one this is.

The walls are hung with fading purple and gold drapes. Everything must once have been opulent and sparkling down here, but time has made the tiled floor go scuffed and rutted, the hangings moth-eaten, and the paint on the doors chipped and damaged. Once upon a time this stadium hosted the biggest Quidditch match in the history of the World Cup, but now it’s only used for the odd match, and whenever the league breaks in for races. It’s sad in a way, and this particular stadium has always had a special place in Albus’s heart.

“He’s in here,” Delphi says, dragging Albus in through one of the doors leading off from the corridor.

The room they enter is a big, dusty storeroom. There’s nothing in there apart from a couple of dusty crates of Butterbeer tucked away in a corner, and, slumped against a pillar...

“Scorpius,” Albus mouths, staring at him. He looks unharmed at least, but he’s definitely unconscious, and who knows what spell damage is going on inside.

Delphi waves her wand and Albus’s wrists burn as he collapses to his knees, not taking his eyes off Scorpius for a second.

“Rennervate.” Delphi directs her wand at Scorpius, who coughs and sags forward. “Fulgari.” His wrists snap together in front of him and he lifts his head and blinks at Delphi for a moment before spotting Albus.

“Albus! You’re here. You’re alive.”

“Yes,” Albus tries to say, but he’s still silenced. Instead he nods.

“What’s going on? Why are we here? She hasn’t hurt you, has she?”

Albus shakes his head to say that he’s fine, but he can’t answer any of the other questions. Delphi seems to realise this because she frowns and waves her wand at him.

“Tell him why he’s here, Sev. Go on. Tell him exactly why he’s here.”

Albus swallows. “She... she wants my dad here for something. She wants me to call for help. But I said I wouldn’t and... and then she said if that was the case then she’d bring you into it. I’m sorry, Scorpius. I’m so sorry. But I just knew that...” He cuts himself off, because as much as he wants to say that he knows how her mind works, that Scorpius will be okay, he doesn’t know that for sure, and what if he won’t be? What if he’s going to die because Albus wouldn’t do what he was told. “I really am sorry,” Albus whispers.

Scorpius shakes his head. “It’s okay. I understand.” He glares defiantly up at Delphi. “I’m here now. What are you waiting for?”

“Good question. Crucio.”

Scorpius screams and contorts, face a picture of agony. Albus shouts too, struggling to get up, wanting to run at Delphi and knock her wand out of her hand, wanting to stop her from making Scorpius scream like that. But the second he gets up she waves a hand at him, knocking him back onto the ground, and an instant after that Scorpius has stopped screaming and she’s raised her wand and is laughing.

“Changed your mind yet, Sev?”

He looks at Scorpius, who’s trying to push himself off the floor using his elbows, face screwed up in pain. Scorpius lifts his head and meets Albus’s eyes, burning with fierce determination. He gives the tiniest nod and Albus swallows and looks back at Delphi.

“I can’t,” Albus murmurs.

“What was that?” Delphi asks, grinning. “You can’t?”

He shakes his head and looks down at the floor. “No.”

“Oh dear.” Delphi’s grin widens and she spins around, pointing her wand at Scorpius once more, but still looking right at Albus. “Crucio.”

Scorpius’s body twists and contorts as Delphi’s spell hits him. The scream that tears from him pierces straight through Albus, sharp as a knife. Albus doesn’t know what to do. He wants to throw himself in front of the spell and take the pain himself. He wants to run at Delphi and stop her somehow, hurt her. He wants to be able to do something, anything, to change this, but he can’t. The course of his life from the time he was 11 years old has led him to this point and now he can’t escape. This is pain of his own making, a disaster of his own making, and he’s lost to it.

“Stop,” he yells, struggling onto his knees. “Please!”

Delphi doesn’t even seem to hear him. She’s looked away now, a cruel expression on her face, tightening her grip on her wand and not stopping the spell, which stretches on and on and on. Scorpius is still screaming, but he’s shaking all over now, twitching and trembling, slowly losing control, and this needs to stop.

Albus manages to get to his feet and he runs at Delphi because it’s the only way he can think to force her to stop hurting Scorpius. She can’t curse him and hold Albus off at once, and there’s no way she’ll let Albus touch her.

He’s right. The second she spots him running at her she drops the curse and swipes her wand at him, blasting him back so hard that he hits the wall and crumples to the ground, dazed.

There’s a moment after that when Albus is lying on his side, stars dancing in his vision, and Scorpius is collapsed motionless on the other side of Delphi. She stands triumphant between them, hair a wild mess, breathing hard but smiling through it. She looks like she’s having the time of her life, and Albus feels sick.

“There’s a really easy way to get me to stop, Sev,” she says, tilting her head to one side and smiling at him. “You know what you have to do.”

Behind her, Scorpius stirs. He lifts his head weakly and looks right at Albus. The movement is almost imperceptible but Albus sees him shake his head before he sinks back onto the ground and lies there, looking wrecked and exhausted.

How much longer can Scorpius keep taking pain like that? It’s too much. But if he hands his dad to Delphi then maybe something even worse will happen. There’s no right answer here. He can’t hand Delphi the keys to the world, but he can’t let her keep hurting Scorpius either.

He curls up in a ball and closes his eyes. The world needs to go away. This all needs to stop. Maybe he can wake up and he’ll be back in bed beside Scorpius at the Manor and all this will be a bad dream. But of course it’s not. He’s still surrounded by dusty air and darkness and the cold of this empty storeroom. At this rate he might never get to sleep beside Scorpius ever again.

“No answer?” Delphi asks, glee in her voice.

Albus swallows and tries to work out what to say, but it’s like she’s put the Silencing Charm back on him. His voice is gone and he can’t find any words.

“Scorpius, I don’t think he loves you,” she says. “If he loved you he would help you, wouldn’t he? He’d stop the pain. But he doesn’t _really_ care. No one cares about you and you’ve known it all along.”

Albus lifts his head and sees that she’s now right in front of Scorpius, crouching down and cupping his chin in her hand. She’s looking him right in the eye, and he’s staring helplessly back at her. It’s obvious that he’s too weak and exhausted to try and pull free, so he’s stuck looking into her eyes, and Albus knows exactly what she’s going to do next.

“Let’s explore that, shall we?” She asks softly. “Let’s find out when exactly you realised that Albus Potter has never cared for you and never will.”

Scorpius goes stiff as she invades his mind. He doesn’t seem to have much resistance left, and Albus can tell he’s unable to fight. He wishes he could help, that he could lend Scorpius some of his strength; some of the desperate defiance welling up inside him. But all he can do is sit and helplessly watch as Delphi mounts her attack.

Albus knows exactly how it feels. He knows what it’s like to have her whispering inside his head, perusing his memories at will, tearing a trail of destruction through all his innermost thoughts. It hurts, and fighting back makes it hurt even more. It’s humiliating, a violation of the most private parts of his soul. And now she’s doing that to Scorpius. Even worse, she’s doing it to Scorpius whose memories are already causing him intense pain.

If the torture hadn’t caused Scorpius irreparable damage already, this will. Albus can tell just by looking at him that he’s already losing himself under Delphi’s assault. She’s gripping his chin hard and his head is tilted back, mouth open. His eyes are rolled back in his head and his limbs are twitching. His breathing seems impossibly shallow, and Albus is sure that if Delphi wasn’t holding him up he’d have collapsed already.

As Albus watches, a trickle of blood runs from Scorpius’s nose, and Albus’s insides go cold. He can’t watch her kill him. He can’t. Even if it destroys everything, he needs Scorpius. This has to stop.

“I’ll do it,” he calls, voice shaking. “Please, stop. I-I’ll call my dad. Just stop hurting him. _Please_.”

There’s a moment in which he thinks Delphi doesn’t hear him, that she’s too lost in Scorpius’s brain to be aware of the outside world. But then she lets go of Scorpius and reels back, breathing like she’s just run a sprint. Scorpius crumples onto the floor, pale and unmoving, and she turns to Albus and nods, eyes dark and glittering.

“Very good. That’s the right answer.”

Albus hangs his head and doesn’t say anything. He feels sick, and he wants nothing more than to run to Scorpius’s side and make sure he’s okay. But he can’t move. He’s trapped, just like he has been right from the first moment he accepted Delphi into his life.

“Will you heal him?” Albus asks, nodding at Scorpius. “Since I’m helping you? Will you make sure he doesn’t-“ He breaks off, as his throat gets clogged with tears.

“I might think about it,” Delphi says, glancing over her shoulder at Scorpius. “He might be more useful alive. We’ll see. Now stop worrying about him. I believe you just agreed to do something.”

They march down the corridor, up a narrow set of stairs, and through a heavy wooden door into another corridor carpeted in plush purple. Albus doesn’t speak – he doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to – and his mind is full of the image of Scorpius lying unconscious and abandoned in the middle of the storeroom. He’s so oblivious to where they’re going that when Delphi turns sharply through a door he almost walks into the wall next to it.

“Pay attention,” she snaps, grabbing hold of him and throwing him through the door into the room ahead.

It must be some sort of bar or reception room. Perhaps this is where the rich and famous guests were entertained before Quidditch matches here. There’s a chandelier overhead that must once have glittered but is now rather dusty. The mirrors on every wall are grimy and stained. The bar is empty, just a solitary bottle of champagne left behind on a shelf. But Albus knows why they’re here; there’s a fireplace in one corner, and Delphi strides across and lights it with a wave of her wand.

“You’re going to call him,” she says. “You’re going to tell him where you are and that you need help. Tell him you just got away from me, but that I’ll be here soon and that you’re scared I’m going to kill you.” She pulls a small pouch from her pocket and holds it out to him. “Go on.”

Albus steps forward, legs shaking, and looks down at the pouch. “How am I supposed to take any when my hands are tied?”

Delphi tuts. She seizes hold of him by the shoulder, fingers digging into his wound again, and unbinds his hands from behind his back, then she drags them in front of him and restores the fiery spell. “Better?”

“Much,” Albus mutters, taking a pinch of powder and stepping across to the fireplace. For a moment he considers stepping into the fire in an attempt to Floo away from this place and escape, but then his wrists burn and he realises that probably isn’t even possible when he’s bound like this. He has no option but to behave.

He kneels in front of the fire and sprinkles the Floo Powder into the flames, then he draws in a breath and leans forward, feeling the pleasant warmth wash across his face.

“Harry Potter’s office,” he says, careful not to inhale any ash. A second later his head is spinning its dizzying journey to London, and an instant after that he finds himself looking at his dad’s deserted office.

There’s no one inside, and no signs that anyone might be coming back anytime soon. Albus’s heart leaps hopefully at that – maybe his dad has already realised they’re in trouble and is on his way to help – but he gets the feeling that Delphi won’t be satisfied if he tells her he couldn’t talk to his dad because he wasn’t there. He has to at least try.

“Hello?” He calls. “Dad? Anyone?”

Ringing silence. This is stupid. But now he’s started calling for help, he doesn’t want to stop. Maybe someone will hear, maybe someone will help, maybe if someone comes he can warn them to be careful. Maybe he’ll find someone who can save him and Scorpius.

“Please,” he screams. “I need help. _Please_.” The last word comes out as a broken sob and a tear splashes down among the flames and instantly turns to steam.

No one is coming. He’ll have to go back to Delphi and tell her there was no one there, that he couldn’t talk to anyone. She’ll be angry. She’ll hurt Scorpius. She might even kill him.

“Can anyone hear me?” He tries again, desperate, voice breaking.

He’s unheard, of course he is. Why would this time be any different to any other time in his life? There’s never anyone there to hear him calling when he needs help, that’s how he got into this mess. And apparently it’s how he’ll have to get out of it too. Alone. Causing yet more damage to the person he loves more than anything else in the world.

He tries to gulp in a breath between his tears but all he gets is a mouthful of ash, and he chokes, coughing and spluttering. His eyes water, and instead of being able to leave the fireplace, he’s stuck there for a second as he struggles for breath. It’s that second that saves him.

“Hello?” Someone calls from across the room.

Albus coughs in response, and he hears running footsteps on the floorboards. As he blinks the tears from his eyes he sees a woman in a smart Muggle suit who he recognises as Emmeline, his dad’s secretary, kneeling in front of the fire, peering at him.

“You’re-“

“Where’s my dad?” He asks urgently. “I need to tell him something.”

“He’s not here,” she says. “He left a little while ago with Draco Malfoy. Are you alright? Can I pass on a message?”

Albus nods. “Yes. Yes! Tell him we need help. She’s going to kill Scorpius unless he comes. We’re... we’re at the Quidditch World Cup stadium. The one from when he was at school. He needs to come quickly. Please.”

Emmeline blinks at him in surprise, then her expression changes to sharp, businesslike understanding. “Yes. Of course. I’ll tell him. Do you need Aurors immediately?”

Albus swallows. “I-I think my dad should arrive first. Alone. It’s important.” He looks right at her and tries to communicate without words that he’s not alone, that there’s someone with him, coercing him, and that everyone needs to be very careful. He’s not sure if she gets the message, but she nods.

“I understand. You be safe. Don’t do anything your dad would do. I’ll send him as soon as I can contact him.”

Albus gives her a shaky smile. “Thank you. I-I have to go now.” Then he withdraws his head from the fire and sprawls onto the hearth, head spinning.

“Is he coming?” Delphi asks before Albus has even got his bearings.

Albus manages to nod and push himself upright. “Yes. He wasn’t there, he’s already looking for me, but I told someone else to tell him we’re here. She’ll do it. He’ll come.”

Delphi beams. “Good boy. Well then, I think we’re done for now. Once your father gets here we’ll be well on the way.”

“Well on the way to what?” Albus asks, even though he knows it’s a futile question.

“That’s my secret to keep,” Delphi says sweetly.

Albus grits his teeth and glares at her, at her sickly smile, the cruel spike of her wand, the glimmer in her eyes. She’s loving every second of this, and it makes him seethe with rage because he should have known. He should have realised. He should have walked away or stopped her.

She crouches down in front of him and strokes her wand down the side of his face. He turns away, squeezing his eyes shut, and she laughs softly and lifts his chin.

“Do you hate me, Albus Potter?”

He doesn’t answer. She doesn’t deserve the satisfaction. But apparently no answer is enough because she laughs again, dark and soft.

“I thought so,” she murmurs. “Good boy. So obliging.” And then she cups his cheek and kisses him on the corner of his mouth, like she sometimes would when they were still playing at being friends. Albus’s skin crawls and he tries to pull away, but she grips his jaw and holds him so he can’t move. Instead he lifts his hands, wrists burning, and shoves her hard in the chest, so she goes sprawling across the floor.

She lands with a thump and stares at him for a second, then she laughs, high and cold, cutting through him like ice. The laugh only lasts for a couple of seconds and that’s the most chilling thing about it. One moment her head is thrown back and she’s cackling, the next she’s snapped back to a cold cruel glare and there’s no trace of amusement either real or faked.

“Well if you don’t want to play, I’ll go and see if your boy is any more entertaining.”

And before he can open his mouth to protest, she slashes her wand through the air and everything goes black.

Scorpius’s whole body feels heavy and painful. His head aches, and he can barely find the energy to move. When he rolls over every fibre of his being screams at him to stop. If he just lies still the pain will fade. He needs the pain to fade. If it doesn’t, he’s not sure he can keep on existing.

He drifts in and out of consciousness. All he really knows is the pain and that he’s alone. There’s no one to help him. He’s surrounded by darkness, and with his whole body on fire he wonders if this might be the edge of death.

Then, somewhere in the darkness, a stream of golden light appears, so bright that it hurts his eyes and inflames the agony in his head. He whimpers and tries to hide his face, squeezing his eyes tight shut, but the next second the whole world is ablaze and his head is being dragged up the hair.

“Sit up,” Delphi commands, and he can’t obey, he doesn’t have it in him, but he does his best. “Useless little worm,” she snaps, manhandling him into position. “I’ve just been having a little chat with your boyfriend,” she hisses in his ear.

Scorpius struggles to wrench himself away from her, using all the strength he’s got left. He doesn’t get very far. “What have you done to him?”

“Oh,” She flutters a hand. “This and that. He decided he didn’t really want to play, so I decided to get rid of him and come and have some fun with you instead.”

Scorpius struggles one last time but she keeps her grip tight on his arm. “I’m not doing anything for you,” he growls. “You’ll have to torture me. You’ll have to kill me. I won’t do it.”

She tuts. “I can’t say I’m surprised. I suppose we’ll have to do this another way.”

Scorpius screws up his whole body in anticipation of the torture. He knows it’s coming, and he knows he can survive it. She won’t beat him. He’s stronger than her.

But the torture never comes. Instead he feels the tip of her wand press into the back of his neck, at the base of his skull. The next second, he’s floating in blissful numbness, his brain entirely shut off, and all the pain has faded away.

“Get up,” says a soft, familiar voice in the back of his mind, and he does, surprised how easy it is. Where has all the pain gone?

“Hop on the spot three times.”

It’s a ludicrous request, but why not? It would be a good way to test out exactly how free of pain he is. He does it, and is delighted that it doesn’t hurt a bit, and normally his balance isn’t nearly so good. Whatever she’s done to him is nice. Really nice. Helpful, even.

He relaxes, unsure why he was so scared for so long. This is such a peaceful, easy existence and there’s nothing to be afraid of. All he needs to do is stand here and wait for instruction.

A quiet part of his brain pipes up then. _If this is so safe why were we fighting? If she’s so nice why were we so scared? And where is Albus?_

Maybe Albus is in this warm, pleasant state of obedience too, he thinks. That would be okay. That would be good. Sometimes Albus worries too much. Sometimes he’s too reckless. He’d be so much safer if someone were taking care of him in this way. Albus will be fine.

_But what if-_

_Sshh._

He gently squashes the dissenting inner voice and waits to be told what to do next. It doesn’t take long. The instruction whispers through his mind just a moment later.

“Guard the stadium. Let only Harry Potter inside. Kill anyone else who tries to get in.”

The secret inner part of him trembles. Kill? He can’t kill. And he’s not a guard. He can’t duel anyone. He can’t stop anyone. This is suicide. This is madness. He should refuse to do it.

But it’s so much easier to just give in. His limbs are already moving, smooth and strong. He’s snapped to attention and that seems to satisfy his commander, because she presses a wand into his hand, and then he‘s marching through the corridors even though he doesn’t really know where he’s going. The idea of resisting the inevitable obedience is impossible.

This is wrong. He should be fighting back. He should stop. But the voice inside him is just a voice, and the thing that’s compelling him to act is a strong, solid force. Shouting at a brick wall doesn’t make it crumble, and so he marches along to take up station in front of the gate, where he waits in the glow of a strange emerald light for Harry Potter to arrive

It seems to only take the blink of an eye. Suddenly he hears someone crashing through the trees up ahead, running footsteps and snatched breaths.

“Can you see the Mark? I think we’re close. Just through... here.”

“Are you sure we’re not lost again, Potter? If we end up walking through another thorn bush then in Merlin’s name, I’ll-“

“No, look.”

A pair of figures emerge from the forest, and Scorpius knows that only one of them is Harry Potter, which means the other one – the uninvited one – will die.

“Scorpius?” It’s Harry speaking, and he’s nudged the man next to him. “He’s alive. Draco, look, it’s-“

“I’ve got eyes, Potter,” Draco snaps. He leaves Harry’s side and marches up to Scorpius. “Are you okay?” He asks, voice softening. “Where’s Albus?”

Scorpius raises his wand and points it at Draco’s chest. “If you try and get past me I’ll kill you.”

Draco blinks. “What?”

Scorpius nods. “You heard. Back away from the gate. I won’t warn you again.”

Draco has the sense to raise his hands in defeat and turn away back to Harry, where they start a conversation that’s clearly audible despite their lowered voices.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Harry glances past Draco and towards Scorpius. “I think she’s put him under the Imperius Curse.”

“The Imperius-“ Draco’s voice rises hysterically, but Harry puts a hand on his arm.

“I know.”

“If she’s using the Imperius Curse then what else might she have-“

“I _know_ , Draco. I know.”

It’s Draco’s turn to glance in Scorpius’s direction now. “Well how do we lift it?”

“With difficulty,” Harry mutters. “Normally it would take a Stunning Spell so you can get them to St Mungo’s for a course of reversal spells... Or you’d get the person who put it on them to release it.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Scorpius says, surprising himself with how cool he is despite the knowledge that they’re planning how to fight him. There’s no panic. He knows he can take them if he has to. When he’s this warm and relaxed and sure of his instructions he can do anything.

Draco draws his wand. “Go and find Albus,” he says, giving Harry a nod.

“But-“

“He’s my son, Potter. I’ll be fine.”

“But-“

“Is that all you can say?” Draco asks, exasperated. “Go on! I’ll save my son, you save yours, and then we’ll all take Delphi down together. Deal?”

Harry draws in a breath and glances up at the sky above the stadium, face bathed briefly in emerald. He nods. “Deal.” He pulls his wand from his pocket and eyes the door behind Scorpius for a moment before setting off running at the exact same moment as Draco begins to advance.

As Scorpius looks into the depths of his dad’s piercing grey eyes and ignores Harry running past him, the little voice pipes up inside him once again.

_You shouldn’t fight him. This is a bad idea. He’s not the enemy._

The thought isn’t strong enough to stop his actions. He directs his wand at Draco’s heart.

“I thought I warned you.”

“You did,” Draco says, “and I decided to ignore you. Perhaps I’ve been spending too much time with Potter and I’ve got reckless, but I know you’re in there, Scorpius, and I’m going to get you back.”

Scorpius attacks before the voice inside him can even think of resisting. Draco shields just as fast, and Scorpius begins to batter him with spell after spell.

It’s deliciously easy, stretching his muscles like this. It’s been a while since he last duelled anyone, and he’s certainly never done it without remorse. There are spells flowing out of him that he knew he was capable of but has never used before. Not Unforgiveable – not yet – but brutal and strong and complex.

_There’s a reason you’ve never cast these before,_ his brain argues. _You should stop before you do something you can’t take back. Stop. Think._

_But he’s strong. He’s strong and capable, and worse than that he’s an intruder. I was told not to let anyone in._

_He’s also your dad._

Scorpius falters for an instant, and Draco takes his opportunity.

“Expelliarmus.”

Scorpius sees it coming and reacts. He shields, blocking the spell with an inch to spare.

_No. I can’t. I have orders._

_So disobey them. She’s evil. She’s cursed you. Don’t give in now. You’re stronger than this. Fight back._

Scorpius realises that he’s stopped slinging spells. He’s rooted to the spot, wand clutched in his hand, shield surrounding him, staring at his dad. His dad who is here to help. His dad who is here to save him and Albus.

_He’s on your side._

Of course he is, Scorpius thinks. He’s my dad.

And then the pain hits. It tears through his body, his limbs and head screaming in agony, and he collapses to his knees and buries his face in his hands. He’s shaking all over. His entire existence is excruciating.

“Scorpius.” Draco rushes to his side. “Scorpius, are you okay?”

The unstoppable force invading Scorpius commands him to sit up, curse his dad while he’s vulnerable, don’t waste this opportunity. But Scorpius discovers then the extent to which that force _is_ stoppable.

_Finish him_ , the voice whispers.

_No_ , he thinks through a haze of pain. _I don’t want to. He’s my dad and he’s here to help me._

_Let the pain stop_. _Give in. You can be free._

With all his effort he lifts his head, unclenches his fingers, and lets the wand roll out of his hand onto the ground. _There are worse things than pain._

“Dad,” he whispers. “A-are you okay? Are you hurt?” He sees that his dad’s cheek is swollen like it’s been stung, and there’s blood dripping from a gash above his eye. “You are. You’re bleeding, I-“

“It’s nothing.” Draco brushes him off and takes hold of his arm, steadying him while he inches into a sitting position. “You look awful. You look hurt. What’s she done to you?”

Scorpius shakes his head. “Not important. Here.” He doesn’t really trust himself to pick his wand up again but he does it anyway, and he directs a spell at his dad’s face. He’s so weak and shaky that it washes over his dad with very little effect, but the bleeding stops and the swelling reduces a tiny bit at least.

“You’re really not okay,” Draco murmurs, taking hold of Scorpius’s hand which is trembling where he’s gripping his wand. “If she used the Imperius Curse does that mean that she also...” He trails off, and Scorpius avoids his eyes.

There’s not an inch of his body that’s not still wracked with pain. He always expected that the effects of torture would be temporary, but now he knows that they’ll stay with him for a long time. There’s a tremor in his hand that he doesn’t think will go away soon, and he feels unbalanced, unsteady. Every muscle in his body is uncomfortable and achy from how they were contorted and manipulated by Delphi’s curse. Maybe there’s no point in trying to hide what’s happened from his dad, but he doesn’t want to cause his dad the pain that that knowledge would bring. He’s suffered enough for both of them.

“We should get you to St Mungo’s,” Draco says softly, taking hold of Scorpius’s arms and examining every inch of him. “Do you have any injuries at all? Any blood, any-“

“I’m fine,” Scorpius says, and it’s true at least in the sense of minor injuries. “I don’t want to go to hospital. We need to help Albus and Harry.” He looks up and around, and that’s when he sees it, the huge, sparkling emerald skull hanging above the stadium. He’s only read about it before, but that’s enough to send his insides cold. “We- we really need to help Albus.”

Scorpius grits his teeth and starts struggling to his feet, determined to prove to his dad that of course he can walk. He only gets halfway up before he falls, panting, his legs weak as jelly.

“Don’t,” his dad says. “You can’t walk. Harry’s gone to help. It’ll be okay.”

“But what if it’s not?” Scorpius looks at his dad. “I’m not leaving. Not with that thing up there. I need to know-“ He takes a deep breath. “I need to know that everything’s okay. Can we stay and wait for them at least? I don’t want to leave without Albus.”

Draco hesitates. “We don’t know what’s happening in there. It could all be going wrong. You can’t fight when you’re like this. It would be stupid to stay this close to danger.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “I can fight. I fought you. It’ll hurt but I can do it. And anyway, it’s not going to go wrong. I trust Harry.”

Draco eyes him. “You’re not giving in, are you?”

“Nope,” Scorpius says, turning his back on the Dark Mark hanging in the sky because it could mean nothing. He chooses to believe that it means nothing. “If we just sit here and rest for a bit I’ll be fine, Dad. St Mungo’s can wait until after we’ve saved the world. Anyway, we’ll be much more successful at persuading Albus to go if I need to go too. It’ll be a good thing in the long run.”

“Well,” Draco says, rolling his wand over in his hand. “Since we’re just going to sit here for a bit, is there anything I can do to help with your pain?”

That’s the moment when it hits Scorpius that his dad really is here. That he’s not alone. That somehow things might be okay, and if they’re not then they’ve got through terrible things before and they’ll do it again. His eyes flood with tears and he flings himself at his dad and hugs him.

Draco reacts with a brief moment of surprise, then he puts his arms around Scorpius and holds him tight, pressing a kiss into his hair.

“Thank you for coming to rescue us,” Scorpius murmurs, voice cracking. “I know Harry would have come on his own. You didn’t have to be here.”

“Yes I did,” Draco says firmly. “Potter needed accompanying by someone sensible.”

“And that’s you, is it?” Scorpius asks, with a slightly soggy laugh.

Draco nudges him gently in the arm and ruffles his hair. “I don’t think you should mock the person who’s about to heal you.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Scorpius holds his hands up in apology, still laughing, and Draco rolls his eyes and sets about finding the right spell to dull the pain.

When the laughter fades, Scorpius glances over his shoulder at the stadium and the green skull glittering high above it.

“I really hope they’ll be alright,” he murmurs.

Draco looks up, expression grim. “I hope so too.”

The stadium isn’t what it was last time Harry was here. The gilt has faded, the dust has settled, and without the buzz of a crowd, it feels like just another Quidditch stadium. He barely sees it as he runs through the corridors and tunnels, trying to work out where to go. His heart pounds in his chest and all he can think of is the emerald gleam of the Mark hanging high above, and what it might mean.

“Albus!” He calls as he runs. “Albus, are you here?”

It’s futile, Delphi wants him here so whether he’s dead or alive, Albus will be somewhere easy to find, but Harry is desperate to hold onto the hope that the Mark isn’t there because of his son. Anyone could be dead. Delphi’s evil. She probably kills regularly. But the part of Harry that houses his Auror instinct, that knows the dark arts better than anyone else, says that she would know how he would react to that Mark. It’s there because of Albus, which means it’s there because of him, and that’s terrifying. Has she killed his son just to lure him in?

He finds the tunnel leading out onto the pitch halfway round his lap of the stadium and goes sprinting up it. Once he’d dreamed of walking onto this pitch as a player, but all his dreams are gone now, extinguished by the desperate need to save lives.

The stadium is dark, cast into shadow by the towering stands all around it. There’s no bright illumination today. The advertising boards that once displayed messages about Mrs Skower’s All Purpose Magical Mess Remover and flying carpets that were the ‘Perfect Family Vehicle’ are dim. The light emanating from the stands has gone out, and even the lines on the pitch which would normally gleam brightly to be seen in all conditions have been dulled by time and lack of care. Only the goalposts at either end of the pitch have retained their lustre. They radiate a soft golden glow that bathes the unkempt, overgrown pitch in a sea of light. And right in the middle of the ocean is a black island – a figure slumped right in the centre of the pitch.

“Albus,” Harry breathes, and he starts to run.

As he sprints across the grass he startles a flock of pigeons that have been pecking at the pitch. They take flight in a squabbling, fluttering mass, but he ignores them. Everything has deserted him now: distraction, fear, worry. All that’s left is the drive to get to Albus as fast as he can and make sure that he’s alive.

When he gets close enough to Albus, he throws himself down on the grass and skids the last handful of inches to his son’s side, then he shakes Albus’s shoulder to try and rouse him.

“Come on Albus. Wake up. Rennervate.”

Albus doesn’t stir, so Harry rolls him over and leans down to try and hear his breathing. It’s soft but it’s there, and when Harry checks his pulse he can feel the faint but steady beat of his heart, pumping life through his body.

Some of Harry’s anxiety melts away. It’s okay. Albus is alive. The Dark Mark was just there to frighten him, to make him search harder and approach with less caution. Which he’s certainly done.

He shields Albus with his body and looked around at the stadium, which looms in darkness around them. Beyond the golden light of the goal hoops there’s just a faint emerald glow and darkness. There could be anything out there, anyone, and Delphi still hasn’t made her appearance.

“Albus,” Harry says, shaking him again. “We need to go. We need to get out of here.”

There’s no response. Albus’s limbs are floppy and lifeless, a dead weight in Harry’s arms.

“I’m going to lift you,” Harry says. “We can’t Apparate out of here so I’ll carry you back to the entrance and we can go before anyone comes.”

With that he heaves Albus up into his arms and starts to struggle to his feet. He’s just made it onto his knees when he hears a voice from somewhere up in the stadium, distant but carrying powerfully through the space.

“Harry Potter. I’ve waited a long time to meet you.”


	18. Hatred

_Albus sits cross-legged on his bed, head bowed, listening to the chaos going on in the rest of the house and feeling immensely glad not to be part of it. His trunk is already packed – he never really unpacked it while he was here, he just stuffed some extra things in early this morning while everyone else was asleep._ _Lily, on the other hand, is definitely not packed. Since they’ve been home for Christmas she’s been like a hurricane, whirling through the house in a frenzy, leaving books and clothes scattered in her wake. James hasn’t helped matters by hiding half her Quidditch equipment at strategic points around the house where he doesn’t think she’ll look._

_“James Sirius Potter,” she yells, sounding an awful lot like their mother, “you will tell me where you’ve put my left shin pad or I will hex you.”_

_“Lily,” Ginny calls, “don’t threaten to hex your brother. But James, please know that there won’t be any dinner for anyone until she finds all her Quidditch equipment. It’s in your interest to help, here.”_

_“I don’t know where it-“_

_“Yes you do!” Lily screeches, and there’s the unmistakeable sound of a door slamming then someone being hit very hard with a pillow._

_Albus shakes his head and blocks his ears. He lies back on the bed and closes his eyes, letting his mind drift back to yesterday night, when he’d snuck out of the house at midnight and he and Delphi had sat on the frosted, glittering fence that marked the border between two nearby fields, surrounded by a glowing sphere of warmth and light, and Albus had told her everything about how awful the holidays have been and how he’s dreading going back to school._

_At the time it had made him feel lighter. It was freeing to talk about everything he found difficult and upsetting, but now with hindsight the memory of that list of tribulations weighs heavy on him. Saying it all aloud has made it far easier to remember why he’s dreading tomorrow. And as he told Delphi, there’s only one redeeming feature to go back to – Scorpius._

_His best friend alone is enough of a redeeming feature to make the trip, but once they get there and Albus is surrounded by the bleakness of it all? Maybe Scorpius won’t be enough of a reason to stay. Not with the promise of better things so close at hand._

_Albus digs a hand into his pocket, where the small piece of parchment Delphi has given him is folded and carefully tucked away. That piece of parchment is hope, the promise of a better place, a better life, a brighter future. That promise doesn’t exist anywhere else, and maybe even misery with Scorpius can’t outweigh happiness without him..._

_There’s a knock on Albus’s bedroom door and he jumps so hard that he almost falls off the bed, his hand flying out of his pocket like even the act of holding onto the piece of parchment might let everyone see what he’s planning. He jolts upright, trying to look innocent, but then he sees that it’s his dad in the doorway, and he glowers and folds his arms, turning his back._

_“Go away,” he mutters._

_“Your mum asked me to bring up some laundry,” Harry says, shaking the basket in his arms, so the clothes inside rustle._

_“Leave them outside.”_

_There’s a pause, but the door doesn’t click shut, so his dad hasn’t left. “I wanted to talk to you.”_

_“Well I don’t want you to,” Albus says. “Please leave me alone.”_

_The floorboard just inside the doorway creaks. Albus eyes his wand which is lying on his bedside table. He’d get in serious trouble from the Ministry for trying to hex his dad, but he’s so rubbish at magic it might make his life easier if they snapped his wand. Being expelled from Hogwarts definitely wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world either._

_“Sometimes,” Harry says, setting the laundry basket down next to Albus’s trunk, “I can’t believe that you’re nearly seventeen. I can still remember when you were little, the most curious little kid. You’d play with the Bowtruckles in the garden, and you’d sit on the step with your mum and watch the Knarls on the lawn at night. You were so happy... And now you’ve grown up, and- I don’t know what changed, but remember that after tomorrow there are only two more rides on the Hogwarts Express left until it’s all over and you can get on with your life. You’re so close. And I hope you know that your mum and I are really proud of you.”_

_Albus bows his head and stares at his hands. “She told you to say that,” he says in a dull, hollow voice._

_There’s a pause, then he feels the bed sink behind him. “No. I mean it. We are proud. I’m proud.”_

_“Why would you be though?” Albus asks, glancing round at him. “I’m useless. I’m trouble. I’m not a proper Potter.”_

_Harry shrugs. “All that stuff makes you stronger. Having to deal with it all.”_

_Albus nods. “Great. Being stronger is so much fun. And thanks for that. For not refuting that I’m not a proper Potter. The honesty is appreciated.” His tone is bitter and irritable, and he can feel his dad getting agitated by it, despite the fact that he’s trying to keep himself calm and keep a lid on the situation. It’s never worked before, and it won’t work now. It’s got to the point where pushing his dad’s buttons is the only thing Albus is good at, and he quite enjoys being good at something for once._

_Harry sighs. “That’s not what I meant,” he mutters, so softly that Albus knows he’s not meant to hear._

_“What_ did _you mean?” Albus asks, a bite in his voice, twisting round to face his dad._

_“You are a proper Potter,” Harry says, running a hand through his hair. “You just happen to be...” He waves a hand at Albus. “Different.”_

_“Different,” Albus repeats blackly._

_“Unique,” Harry tries. “Your own person.”_

_“I don’t fit in,” Albus interprets, nodding. “Not in this family, not at school. I know.” He gets to his feet and picks up the laundry basket, dumping it onto his bed and starting to sort through it. “You can leave now.”_

_Harry stands up slowly but doesn’t leave, instead he turns to face Albus, watching him go through the laundry. “I don’t understand why you’re so unhappy,” he says softly. “We love you. We care about you. I know that school’s not ideal but you’re getting there. What do I need to do differently?”_

_Albus slams open the lid of his trunk and starts folding his shirts into it. “If you don’t know that by now then I can’t help you.”_

_“But that’s what I want,” Harry says, reaching out to him in desperation. “Help me.”_

_Albus screws the shirt he’s holding into a tiny ball and hurls it into his trunk as he surges to his feet and turns on his dad. “This is it!” His voice comes tearing out of him, far louder than he’d meant it to, but sometimes – like right now – shouting is exactly what he needs to be doing. “You’re asking me to help you but it should be the other way round. You’re so... so fucking selfish. It’s always about you.” He’s glad he already threw his shirt away, because he knows that if it were still in his hand he’d have hurled it at his dad’s face._

_Harry spreads his hands, utterly exasperated. “How am I making this about me? I’m trying to help you.” He takes a step towards Albus. “Maybe this is it. This is why you’re so miserable. You won’t let anyone in. You just want to wallow in whatever’s going on, but you know what? You’re not the only person who’s ever been unhappy in their life, Albus. I mean look at me-“_

_“Look at you!” Albus crows in triumphant rage. “There you go again!”_

_“Look at your mum!” Harry roars over the top of him. “She was possessed-“_

_“When she was eleven.”_

_“She lost one of her brothers-“_

_“Who tragically lost his life in battle so that you could go on and save the world. I know, Dad. I’ve heard.” He knows he should stop there. He knows that he should walk away. But it feels so good to be viciously honest, to see the horror and anger on his dad’s face, that he ploughs on._

_“This is what I don’t think you get, Dad. Voldemort is gone. He’s in the past – he’s in_ your _past. But this is now. This is the present. This is_ my _present. And the only way he can touch me, hurt me, is through you. And he does, every single fucking day, because you can’t get over him. You need to move on, Dad. Get a life. Because being the boy who lived might be more than enough for Lily and James but it doesn’t cut it with me.”_

_As he turns back to his laundry he wipes a hand across his cheek to get rid of the tears, and starts sifting through his pants and socks. There’s a pair of socks patterned with lightning bolts that Scorpius gave him one April Fool’s Day as a joke, and normally they make him smile, but today he balls them up and tosses them into the far corner of the room. He can feel Harry watching them go._

_What he expects is for his dad to bottle up his rage and leave. That’s how these fights normally end: in frosty silence. But apparently not today. Instead his dad takes a step forward until he’s right behind him, and then he speaks, far more quietly than Albus had expected._

_“If you’re so unhappy, why don’t you just leave?”_

_Ice floods through Albus, freezing his heart, but at the same time he feels as though he’s on fire with anger and embarrassment. His dad doesn’t want him around. It’s not a surprise, but it doesn’t feel good either. In fact this is the worst he’s ever felt. However it strengthens his resolve. If he hadn’t been determined to run away before, he certainly is now. If his dad doesn’t want him then there’s nothing to come back to, no point struggling on when he’ll never belong._

_He folds his arms across his chest and turns to face his dad. “Maybe I will,” he says, just as soft and calm. Then a surge of anger runs through him and he pulls his wand from his pocket and points it into his dad’s face. “Now get out. I can’t leave unless you let me pack.”_

_His dad swallows. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but clearly thinks better of it. He raises his hands and backs away out of the room, closing the door behind him. The second he’s gone, Albus throws himself face down on his bed among the pile of laundry and starts to sob._

As Harry heaves Albus’s dead weight into his arms and starts struggling to his feet, he hears a voice, powerful and resonant, carrying through the huge space of the stadium.

“Harry Potter. I’ve waited a long time to meet you.”

He stops, hugging Albus’s body against his chest, and stares wildly around. With the stands in shadow and the golden light radiating from the goal hoops bathing the pitch, it’s impossible to see a thing. He knows who’s talking but he can’t see her, he doesn’t know where she is. And although he knew beforehand that this was probably a trap, now he’s absolutely certain of it.

He lowers Albus onto his lap and eases his wand from his pocket and he hears her laugh, high and chilling.

“I don’t want to fight,” she says. “Why do you assume the worst? No, I just want to talk.”

Harry doesn’t believe her, but he lays Albus gently in the grass, lets his wand hang by his side, and starts to think through the words of the spell that will tell him where she is, wherever she goes in the stadium. It’s a complex incantation and he doesn’t know if he can cast it Non-verbally and without any wand movements, but he has to try or he’ll be blind when this does eventually turn into a fight.

“What do you want to talk about?” He calls, as he starts to try and cast the incantation.

“You destroyed him, you know,” Delphi says, in a soft voice that Harry can just tell is one of delight. She’s going to enjoy this immensely. “Not just on that last day, but every day for years and years. Do you know what happened on the day I met your son, Harry Potter?”

Harry swallows. “He ran away, like I told him to.”

“No.” He can hear the smile in Delphi’s voice and it makes him so angry that for a second he loses concentration and fluffs his incantation. Gripping his wand tighter, he tries again.

“What do you mean, no?”

“Do you remember the summer after his first year? There was that horrible day when you refused to let him go and stay the weekend with Scorpius, and then, to add insult to injury, James snapped some of the twigs on his broom, and when he got angry and his magic ran away from him and he ruined the tail of James’s broom of course you shouted at him but not at James.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, and a beat of silence stretches between them. He doesn’t need to say that of course he remembers that day, and he still regrets it. James had been crying, really crying, and James so rarely cried properly that he’d just assumed Albus was to blame for the destruction. By the time he’d realised his mistake it had felt too late to correct it, and Albus hadn’t wanted to talk to him.

“I found him,” Delphi says. “That afternoon. He was sitting in the shed with the two broken brooms, sobbing as he tried to fix them. I helped him, I showed him the spell and patiently watched as he failed over and over again until he did it. The look on his face as the first twigs knitted back together... He was so grateful to me. I was his saviour that day, and so many days afterwards. I was there every single time you failed.”

“And now we’re here.” Harry’s spell works. He can feel the moment it connects, and now he knows exactly where Delphi is – perched high above him in the stadium – but he doesn’t react to that, he keeps staring in slightly the wrong direction as he talks to her. “We’re here and all that’s in the past. He’s not on your side anymore.”

“No,” she sighs. “It’s a shame really. It would have been so delicious to have him kill you. But in a way, he still will.”

“You’re not going to kill me,” Harry says, wondering whether now is a good time to start the inevitable battle by shielding himself and Albus. “If you were going to do that you’d have done it already.”

Delphi laughs, and Harry senses when she starts to move. It’s strange because she’s not walking, she’s gliding. She’s stepped out into thin air and it doesn’t feel like she’s on a broom. Harry braces himself, uncertain, wand clenched in his hand.

“I didn’t say anything about killing you here and now,” Delphi says. “That would be pointless. No, we’re going on a little trip.”

“Where to?” Harry asks, stalling for time as he tries to work out how he and Albus can get out of here safely.

It’s too far to run across the pitch, and he could fight his way out but he might not be able to keep Albus safe at the same time. There are wards up, so there’s no way of Apparating here. He’d have to move slowly and hope she didn’t notice until he was close enough to the tunnel to make a break for it. Either that or stand here and try to hold her off for long enough to get past her defences and Stun her. There isn’t really a good option among any of those...

“Why would I tell you that?” Delphi asks. And then he senses Delphi raise her wand, and he shields with all his might.

It’s not enough. The curse sheers straight through, shattering the shield like glass. Thankfully it doesn’t hit Harry or Albus, but it leaves Harry scrambling for his next spell, which is also a beat too slow.

Expelliarmus dies on his lips as Delphi does something that catches hold of him, like they’re magnetically attracted. She lifts a hand and pulls him irresistibly forward, as though there’s a rope attached to his sternum and she’s reeling him in. Next second her grip on him releases and he stumbles backward, off balance. At the exact same moment his wand flies from his hand and he sprawls in the grass beside Albus, unarmed.

“I honestly thought that was going to be harder,” Delphi says lightly, and she really does sound disappointed. Now the spell has broken Harry can’t feel her anymore, but he doesn’t need to. She joins them on the bright pitch, floating onto the grass as light as a feather, with not a broom in sight.

“You can fly,” Harry says, watching her.

“Just like my father.” Her eyes sparkle in the golden light, and Harry realises that she looks very familiar, almost the spitting image of Bellatrix Lestrange.

She stoops down, picks Harry’s wand delicately off the pitch with two fingers, before briefly inspecting it and then pocketing it. Finally she points her own wand at him. “Brachiabindo.”

Harry’s wrists spring together, bound so tightly that they feel stuck all the way along his forearms, and he can’t move them an inch. With a jerk of her wand upwards, Delphi lifts him to his feet and he stares down at Albus.

“Is he coming too?”

“Oh no. He’s staying here. He won’t be waking up any time soon, but if he does he’ll be well-guarded, and this way he’s useful to me but he can’t interfere.”

“What does that mean?” Harry asks, thinking ‘Emancipare’ as hard as he can at his wrists to try and free himself – almost impossible without a wand but still worth trying.

“I’m not going to tell you that,” she says, tightening the bonds around his wrists so it feels like she’s starting to cut off the blood flow. “Now stop asking questions.”

“I’ve been told that before,” Harry says. “I tried it for a bit, but it didn’t suit me.”

“You’re just as bad as him.” Delphi spits on the ground beside Albus’s face, and Harry twitches, but the restraints on him are too strong. “Silencio,” Delphi says, gesturing to Harry with her wand. Instantly his voice disappears, and as much as he opens and closes his mouth he can’t make a sound.

Delphi closes a hand around his arm and grips him very tightly. “Now come on. We don’t have much time to waste.” Before Harry can even try to struggle or protest his feet leave the ground and he’s flying.

It’s a bizarre sensation without a broom, skimming weightless through the air with no support but Delphi’s determination. It’s made even stranger by the fact that this isn’t just flying. Every few seconds it feels as though his body vaporises, becoming a confusing jumble that his brain can’t understand, and by the time he comes back to himself the ground below is unfamiliar. This sort of flight is horrible, stomach churning, disorienting, and it doesn’t take him long to decide that he never wants to experience it again.

Thankfully it seems to be quite quick, or perhaps the constant bouncing, shifting, dissolving feeling has made him completely lose track of time. But suddenly they’re losing height, skimming downwards, and Harry squints into the lashing wind, trying to work out where they are.

Before he works it out, he feels the world go ice cold. Dementors. Wherever there are Delphi’s got allies and protection here. He tries to look around, and he catches sight of one of the creatures floating a few feet from them. It doesn’t bother them as they approach, but Harry hears its rattling breath and he struggles not to lose his head as he hears voices echoing through his mind: his voice, Albus’s voice, hurling words at each other that Harry dearly wishes he could forget.

Thankfully they’re flying fast, and they quickly skim past the Dementors. It seems they’re arranged in a ring on the outskirts of whatever village they’re in, and it certainly is a village. Harry can see houses below, a church, a village square with a monument and a pub, and then, with a jolt, he sees the ruins of a house that he recognises all too well, and he knows exactly where they are.

“Godric’s Hollow,” Delphi says, glancing at him with a bright, cruel smile. “I thought it might be poetic. The place where you survived and sealed my father’s fate; the same place where you will die and I will avenge him.”

Harry stares down at the house, a mixture of dread and determination swelling up inside him. Of all the places she could have brought him, this is the one where they’re most equal – both simultaneously encumbered and driven by the past. And the fact that he’s here alone, wandless, friendless, and no one knows he’s here plays perfectly into her hands, just the way she wanted it. But at the same time, he has to stop her. It’s the only way to free Albus. If he has to die to do it then this is a fitting place, and he _will_ do it. He will make amends and save his son.

“Are you cold?” Draco asks for the hundredth time. “Are you comfortable? Are you sure you don’t want to go home?”

“I’m fine,” Scorpius insists, also for the hundredth time. “And I definitely don’t want to go home.” He wraps his arms round himself and tries to hide the fact that he’s shivering – in truth he’s freezing, but he doesn’t want to cast a Warming Charm in case it attracts unwanted attention, and he doesn’t want his dad to do it either.

“Are you sure?”

“ _Dad_!” Scorpius gives him a hard look, and his dad finally relents, sitting back on the grass and holding his hands up in surrender. Scorpius recognises the victory and nods, rubbing his hands down his arms. “What time is it?”

“Two minutes after you last asked,” Draco says.

Scorpius sighs. “Sorry.” He glances up at the Dark Mark that still dominates the sky overhead. “I want to know what’s happening. It’s so quiet... I hate not knowing. Maybe if I was still under the Imperius Curse I’d-“

“No.” Draco cuts him off, shaking his head. “No, you wouldn’t know any more. She wouldn’t have told you. You’re better off now.”

“I know that, but...” He slumps his shoulders. She might have changed her plans. There might have been some indication. Whereas now he’s stuck out here with no information and there’s no sound or movement or anything. This place might as well be deserted.

Draco shifts restlessly in the grass. “I wish we could call for backup and go in and find them... That’s what Potter would do.”

“We’re not in charge of a bunch of Aurors though.”

Draco’s expression hardens. “I’m sure we could work something out. I’m not exactly devoid of contacts. And you work at the Ministry. Then there’s Ginny, I’m sure she could gather some allies to help.”

Scorpius imagines his dad storming in at the head of an army, to rescue Harry Potter of all people. The idea is so funny that he has to duck his head and hide a smile. His dad would never let Harry live that one down.

“What are you laughing at?” Draco asks, nudging him.

“The idea of you saving Harry.” Scorpius grins and shakes his head.

“Is it really so comical?”

Scorpius does his best to quash his grin but it doesn’t really work. “It’s not that I think you couldn’t do it. It’s just... different. Good different. And it would be cool – very cool. My dad saving Harry Potter.”

“Well,” Draco says, breaking a smile too. “If it would make me a cool dad then I suppose I don’t have a choice.” He gets to his feet and draws his wand. “Time to call in the cavalry.”

“You’re actually going to do it?” Scorpius starts struggling to his feet. He feels a little dizzy and his legs are heavy and achy, but he makes it, even though he has to hold onto his dad’s arm for support.

Draco steadies him. “Of course I- What in Merlin’s name is that?”

They both stare up as a roiling mass – sort of like smoke, sort of like the flapping wings of an enormous black bird – goes flying overhead, briefly casting them into shadow before it disappears beyond the trees. Scorpius stares after it and swallows.

“I-I think that might have been Delphi.”

Draco’s eyebrows raise in surprise and he turns to Scorpius. “That was _her_?”

“I don’t know for sure, but... those wings. They’re just like the ones Albus had tattooed on him. Augurey wings.”

“But if she’s left...” Draco trails off, and Scorpius nods.

“It means that we might be able to go and find Albus. And Harry.”

“Precisely.” Draco squeezes Scorpius’s arm. “Do you think you can walk into the stadium?”

“I know I can,” Scorpius replies, full of determination. “Come on.” And he sets off walking back into the stadium and off in the direction of the pitch.

Scorpius’s energy starts to flag before he’s even got halfway to the pitch, but he’s not about to admit defeat. He holds tight to his dad’s arm and leans against him a bit more than he was before, but most importantly he keeps going. There’s no time for resting or slowing down. Delphi might not have left for good. She might come back. They need to do this now.

“Are you still alright?” Draco asks at one point, and Scorpius nods, teeth gritted.

“Fine.”

They get to the top of the tunnel and step onto the pitch. Scorpius immediately spots the small, crumpled figure lying on the grass and his heart stops. He lets go of his dad’s arm, and using a strength he didn’t know he possessed, starts to run. Every tiny part of his body is screaming at him to stop, his lungs and legs are burning, but he keeps going because all he wants in the world is to get to Albus and find out if he’s alive.

He collapses onto the ground beside Albus and fumbles to try and find a pulse. It’s almost impossible when his hands are shaking and his heart is hammering so loud he can hardly hear himself think. When his dad joins him a moment later he still hasn’t had any success, and he sits back, trembling, and looks desperately at him.

“Can you- Is he-“

Draco waves him away and draws his wand. He presses the tip to Albus’s chest and after a second he nods. “He’s alive.”

Scorpius sags with relief. “Good... But why is he asleep? How do we wake him?”

“Rennervate.” Draco flicks his wand towards Albus but nothing happens. Scorpius gives Albus’s shoulder a little shake.

“Wake up.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work. Finite Incantatem.”

Still Albus doesn’t stir. His body is all floppy, head lolling from side to side as Scorpius shakes him.

“What if it’s impossible to wake him? What if Delphi’s used a potion – the Draught of Living Death or something? We’d need an antidote.” Scorpius looks hopelessly at his dad. “Should we just take him to St Mungo’s and get help there?”

“Perhaps,” Draco says softly. “There’s at least one more spell though.” He waves his wand in a figure of eight over Albus’s chest and closes his eyes as he concentrates. All Scorpius hears of the spell are a string of whispered consonants. It sounds complicated, but it also sounds as though his dad is very familiar with it, and it only takes him a second to realise that that’s because he knows the spell too.

When Astoria was sick she would sometimes be put into a deep, enchanted sleep to help her rest and recover. This is the spell they used to use to wake her, gently and peacefully, drawing her back to the surface of consciousness in a slow and controlled manner.

Scorpius holds his wand out too and joins his dad in the spell. He’s only cast it a couple of times before but he knows the words off by heart, and even though he’s exhausted, he wants to help. He can feel the energy sapping out of him, and his hands start to get a bit tingly, his head light. By the time they get to the end of the final phrase of the incantation he sags to the side and buries his face in his hands, not bothering to see whether the spell has actually worked. So it comes as a complete surprise when he hears a groan and a hand hits his knee as Albus rolls over.

Scorpius lifts his head, and he feels sick as the world spins around him, but he sees that Albus is blinking his emerald eyes, rubbing them like he’s waking from a very deep sleep, and relief floods through Scorpius’s body. It’s not an antidote to the dizziness and sickness, but it helps him hold it at bay.

“Albus,” he whispers, running a hand down Albus’s arm. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did she-“

Albus blinks blearily up at him for a moment before his vision clears and he focuses on Scorpius. “You. You’re alive. When we left I thought you might be... But you’re alive.” He lifts a shaky hand to Scorpius’s face, running his fingers along Scorpius’s jaw, touch tender and gentle. Scorpius closes his eyes and inhales, and every part of him wants to draw Albus in closer and hold him, but then Draco clears his throat, and Scorpius jumps and pulls his hand away.

“We need to get to safety,” he says, turning to look at his dad. “Is there any way of taking down the wards so we can Apparate out of here? I don’t think Albus should walk.”

“Neither should you,” Draco says, giving him a pointed look.

Scorpius glares defiantly back at him but doesn’t argue. He guesses that if he tried to stand up he’d fall straight back down again right now. There might even be a considerable amount of vomit involved too. “We have to leave. What if Delphi comes back?”

Albus sits up suddenly. “Where’s my dad?” He asks, looking past Scorpius and directly at Draco. “I called him. She was waiting for him. She wouldn’t have left without him. Where is he?”

“I can try to take the wards down,” Draco says coolly. “I doubt I can do it alone, but I’ll try. It would certainly make things easier, and I agree that neither of you should be walking any-“

“Where’s my dad?” Albus repeats, more forcefully this time. “He’s gone, isn’t he? She took him.” He looks at Scorpius. “Tell me I’m right.”

Scorpius swallows. “She left,” he murmurs finally. “Not long ago.”

Albus flies to his feet, swaying a bit, but looking unstoppably determined. “I’m going after her. Where did she go?”

“We don’t know,” Scorpius says, struggling up next to him, gripping Albus’s arm for support and squeezing his eyes shut against a wave of dizziness and nausea. “We saw her fly past but...”

“Sit down. Both of you.” Draco is on his feet too now. “None of us are going anywhere unless it’s together.”

Albus shakes his head. “No. I’m going. I have to find him. I have to help him. I just need to work out where they’ve gone...” He looks at Scorpius, expression distant and thoughtful, like he’s not really looking at all, but rather lost inside his head. After a couple of seconds his expression clarifies and he grips Scorpius’s arm and looks him right in the eye.

“I know where she is.”

“Where?”

“I think she’s taken him to Godric’s Hollow.”

“How do you know?” Draco asks.

“Because... because I saw an Augurey there. Just like at Hangleton House; just like when we were attacked by those Dementors. And I heard her talk about it one night, about how she was planning something there.” He lets go of Scorpius’s arm and turns round on the spot. “I need a broom. I need a wand. I need to go.”

“No,” Draco says sharply. “Your dad would never forgive me if I-“

“My dad won’t have chance to forgive anyone if I don’t go now.” He’s so much smaller than Draco that he shouldn’t look so powerful facing him, but he‘s so tightly wound, crackling with the same restless, unstoppable energy as Harry, and Scorpius knows that no one can say no to that.

“Here,” Scorpius says softly into the silence that follows, holding out his wand. “Take it. My dad can look after me.”

“But-“

Scorpius presses it into his hand. “You need it more than I do.”

Albus swallows, hesitates for a second, then closes his fingers round the handle of the wand. “O-okay. Thank you. I... Alright.” He raises the wand and looks around the stadium, then he says with a clear, strong voice, “Accio Broom.”

For several seconds everything in the stadium is utterly still and silent. A bird crows in the distance; the Dark Mark glitters overhead; the wind brushes softly through the grass, just enough of it to make for perfect Quidditch conditions. Albus’s shoulders gradually slump, some of the determination seeping out of him as he seems to decide that the broom isn’t coming. But then, suddenly, there’s a whooshing sound from the tunnel across the pitch and the next second Albus has turned on the spot to catch a very familiar racing broom. His face lights up with joy as he does.

“It worked!”

“Of course it did,” Scorpius says, then he smiles and adds, “Confidence.”

Albus gives a tiny smile in response and adjusts his grip on the broom. “Okay. I’m going to go.” He reaches out and puts a hand on Scorpius’s arm. “Go somewhere safe. Please.” He glances at Draco. “Take care of him. I hope I’ll see you soon.”

“No,” Scorpius says, gripping both Albus’s arms and looking him dead in the eye. “You _will_ see us soon.” Then he leans in and kisses Albus squarely on the lips.

Albus wraps one arm round him and holds him for a second, fingers brushing lightly through his hair, then he lets go and Scorpius stumbles back off balance. In the second before he recovers himself, Albus has swung around, mounted the broom, and kicked off hard. He soars upwards, bent low over the broom handle, a small determined silhouette against the sky.

Scorpius watches him out of sight then he turns to his dad, who has walked up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on,” Draco says. “We need to go.”

Scorpius twists his shoulder free of his dad’s grip. “We can’t just leave. We have to go after him. We have to try and help!”

“We’re going to help.”

Scorpius dodges back a step. “By running away? We need to get brooms and-“

“We’re not running away,” Draco says. He takes a step towards Scorpius and lowers his voice. “We’re going to get reinforcements.”

Albus’s eyes water from the force of the wind as he pelts as fast as he can across the countryside. He only has a vague idea that he’s going in the right direction, and he’s hoping as he flies over Muggle country lanes and villages that no one will look up and spot him. Right now there are far more important things than not breaking the International Statute of Secrecy. This is life and death.

He clutches Scorpius’s wand tight in his hand and narrows his eyes against the biting wind. It can’t be that far, surely? They’re in the right part of the country at least. And on a broom, flying this fast, it shouldn’t take long. It’d better not take long... Delphi has a head start and who knows what she’s planning to do when she reaches the village.

Albus flattens himself to the broom handle, resting his chin on the polished wood, and tries to coax as much speed as he can out of it. Normally he’d be able to fly faster, but thanks to whatever spell Delphi cast to send him to sleep he’s feeling a bit sluggish and weak. Of all the days to be off his game, it had to be this one. He’ll have to duel her later, and he’s bad at magic at the best of times, without this too.

No, he tells himself. No. Confidence. He can do this. He can fight her. Even if his brain is running slow and his limbs are heavy with exhaustion, he’s an athlete and she’s not. He’s also his father’s son, on top of the fact that he wants nothing more in the world right now than to destroy her. Tenacity counts for a lot. At least he hopes it does.

After ten minutes of flying he sits up a little, slowing himself down so he can check he’s in the right place. He holds Scorpius’s wand flat on his palm and mutters the spell that will make it spin like a compass. When it stops, north is slightly to the left of where he’s going, which is just right. He’s still on course. Now there’s nothing to do but put his head down and fly, so he does.

It’s a few minutes later when he feels something change in the air. The whole flight has been cold, it’s an occupational hazard of flying in the open, but suddenly the air turns to ice. His breath starts to mist in front of him, and the air bites sharply at his fingers so he has to tuck them in. He shivers and bows his head, realising as he does that an icicle has formed in his fringe where the beads of sweat in his hair have frozen. This isn’t natural at all, and it only takes him a second to put the sudden cold and the sense of creeping dread inside him together and realise what’s going on.

Dementors.

The memory of his dad’s voice echoes inside his head. The cold whisper of it. The truth.

“If you’re so unhappy, why don’t you just leave?”

No attempt to convince him to stay. Nothing to call him back. No begging, no fighting for him, just icy dismissal.

A bleak despair enfolds him, and he slows in the air. His dad didn’t care about him then, and not much has changed really since that day. If anything, Albus has become a worse son. More trouble. Why should he keep flying? Why should he even try to save his dad? He won’t manage it anyway. He’s worthless.

He sits up, losing speed. He’s so tired. His body aches. Grey creeps around the edge of his vision and he struggles to draw in a deep breath when the air is biting at his lungs. Up ahead he can see a black shape looming out of the darkness, hooded and cloaked. One of the Dementors is coming to chase him away. Maybe not even that. Maybe it’s come to finish him off.

He holds Scorpius’s wand loosely in his hand and stares at the creature. Its breath rattles, and he remembers the putrid stench of it from the night by the river. That night Scorpius had protected him, but tonight he’s alone. Tonight he has to protect himself. If he can.

Behind him he hears more of the horrible, laboured breathing, and he wheels his broom round to see another Dementor closing in, and there’s another coming from the side. He’s surrounded, with no means of escape. This is the end.

He hears screaming. That’s Scorpius screaming with the unrestrained pain of torture. He hears laughter – Delphi’s cold, familiar laugh – and that’s what clears his mind.

Delphi. He has to stop Delphi. Whatever she’s doing, it can’t happen. And the only way to stop Delphi is to go through these Dementors, as impossible as it might seem. Scorpius thought it was impossible too, but he still did it. Now it’s Albus’s turn.

He pictures Scorpius’s face, eyes shining, bright and joyful. He imagines the press of Scorpius’s lips, the heat and proximity of his skin, how it had felt to be wrapped up in him, part of him. He hears the whisper of Scorpius’s voice.

_Confidence_.

Then he raises his wand and shouts, “Expecto Patronum.”

It’s so effective that it takes him by surprise. A silver animal comes galloping out of the end of his wand and charges straight at the Dementor in front of him. It’s a small, stocky creature, but it moves with such power and tenacity that the Dementor flees without hesitation, turning tail and gliding away through the misty sky. The Patronus gives a satisfied toss of its head and turns, charging instead at one of the other Dementors. Albus clings to his broom as it passes, staring at it, trying to work out what it is, because there’s no doubt that this is a proper, corporeal Patronus, the sort of magic that he never in his life dreamed he could produce. If he hadn’t seen it come from his own wand he wouldn’t have believed it.

The second Dementor turns and glides away too, and the Patronus turns to the third. This one lingers, and the Patronus rears up at it, kicking its hooves, mane streaming in the wind. As the third Dementor leaves and warmth and light start to fade back into the world, Albus dares to inch forward on his broom, and finds himself face to face with a small silver pony.

It bows its head and snorts, nosing towards his hand, and he feels the cold leave his fingers instantly. Before they were stiff and icy from being clenched around his broom, but now they feel almost normal again, and he wiggles them experimentally. He swallows and replaces his hand back on the broom.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and it feels stupid to be talking to the result of a spell. It’s not like the pony can talk to him, or even understand him. Except maybe it does, because it tosses its head proudly.

“I didn’t think I could...” Albus trails off, then he reaches out with his other hand and runs his fingers through the air just above the Patronus’s neck. “Thank you. Um. Are you staying? Will you stay?”

The pony paws the air, and Albus decides to take that as a yes. It’ll be nice to not go into this alone, and there’s no doubt that the Patronus is making him feel warmer and more confident – just the fact that he produced it alone is enough to boost him.

“We need to go,” he says. “If there are more Dementors or... or anything really, I’ll need your help. I hope that’s okay. I... Alright. We should go.” He looks at the pony for a moment more, then he wheels round and sets off flying, arcing down towards the village, with the bright silver creature trotting along behind him.

It’s still cold, even now the Dementors have been driven back. There’s a thick fog too, despite this being a warm summer afternoon. The result is that it’s very dark, so dark that it feels like nightfall in winter.

To Albus’s relief they don’t encounter any other creatures as they descend towards the main street of the village. That might just be because he’s got his Patronus with him, holding back the darkness, but he’s not sure. Delphi has allies, she has a whole host of Death Eaters, her sponsors and friends, and the whole time they’d been in Europe she’d been meeting people, recruiting factions – giants, trolls, werewolves, vampires; anyone who’d been friendly with her father. But Albus can’t see her bringing them all to one place. She kept all her assets separate, not letting them meet or interact, keeping her plans disparate, with her sitting at the centre of her web of power like a great spider. It would make sense that most people are stationed elsewhere, waiting for news that whatever is to happen here in Godric’s Hollow has been successfully accomplished.

Albus skims over the roof of the church, down past the war memorial that hides the statue of his dad, and then up ahead looms the ruin of the house. He doesn’t know for certain that that’s where Delphi will be but where else? It has to be this.

The overgrown garden is deserted, nothing but a tangle of weeds and the graffitied sign that pushes through beside the gate. He wasn’t expecting Delphi to be in the garden though. Something tells him that she’ll be inside. The structure may not be safe but over the years it’s been magically reinforced, and she’s probably put some of her own power into holding it up while she carries out her plans. She’ll be up in the nursery, in the room where a baby Harry once slept and played, the room where her father was destroyed for the first time. That’ll be where she plans to kill him.

“You can go now,” Albus murmurs to the Patronus, “thank you”. Then he flies up towards the crumbling side of the house, and when he gets close enough to the hole he throws himself forward into the room and goes rolling across the floor in a cloud of dust.

He comes up coughing and blinking, wand held out in front of him, wanting to get his vision as clear as possible so he can see what he’s faced with. Thankfully, his dramatic entrance seems to have taken everyone in the room by surprise. Delphi is standing by the wall staring at him. His dad is kneeling on the ground in front of her, hands bound behind his back, body twisted as he cranes round to see what’s going on behind him. It takes a second for the dust to clear enough for him to see Albus, and when it does his eyes go wide with fear.

“Albus,” he gasps. “No. You shouldn’t be here. Get out.”

Behind him, Delphi recovers. Her surprise dissolves into a wide smile. “No. Don’t leave. This is such an unexpected honour. Please stay. The more the merrier after all.”

“Let him go,” Albus growls, pointing Scorpius’s wand right at her heart. “Let him go now, or I’ll kill you.”

Delphi’s laugh is one of genuine delight. “Will you?”

Albus takes a step forward, fingers clenching round the rough, whittled handle of the wand. “Yes. I will.”

“No,” Harry breathes. “Albus, don’t. You can’t! She’s using-“ His voice is cut off mid-sentence as Delphi lazily flicks her wand in his direction, stopping his voice.

“Yes he can,” she says. She keeps the wand pointing at Harry as she steps past him towards Albus. She’s not guarding herself. The spot over her heart is unprotected, and that’s what makes Albus pause before striking. If she’s not defending herself then maybe she wants to be attacked. This is just too easy.

“What are you doing?” He asks, lowering his wand an inch.

She shrugs. “Letting you kill me. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Albus hesitates. “Yes, but...”

Delphi smiles as she reaches him. “But?”

He swallows. “But you don’t want to die...”

“Not particularly. But since you’re so keen, I thought I might oblige you.” She spreads her arms wide, exposing her chest as a wide target, just inches away. “Come on, Sev. What are you waiting for?”

It’s not often that he can look down on someone, but as she stands in front of him he’s painfully aware of how small she is. She’s such an imposing personality that it’s easy to forgot sometimes but now, docile and undefended, she looks so tiny. She gazes at him with dark eyes, daring him to do it, and as the seconds stretch by he can feel her disappointment in him, disappointment that he’s felt so many times and still hates. But he can’t. He can’t kill her. Even if he thought it was a good idea he wouldn’t be able to. He lowers Scorpius’s wand and steps back.

“I can’t,” he murmurs.

“You can’t?” Delphi asks.

He shakes his head and looks down at his feet. “No, I... I can’t do it.”

She cocks her head and eyes him curiously. “Why not?”

He shrugs and turns the wand round between his fingers, still not meeting her eyes. “I don’t want to...”

“But you want me dead.”

He lifts his head. “I want you gone. I want you to leave us alone. I want you to free him and- and I want you to stop. Whatever you’re doing I want it done. I want us done, just like you said we were.”

She scrutinises him for a moment, and it seems like that was the right thing to say, because she nods and turns her back on him, high ponytail bobbing as she goes. “I’m not going to free him. And we’re not done. I need you. You were useful enough unconscious but this is actually better. You’ve done me a favour, Sev, by showing up here. You’re very useful, you know.”

Albus tightens his grip on the wand again and adjusts his feet so he’s ready. Ready to fight or run or whatever he needs to do. “I’m not going to help you. Never again.” He glances at his dad and meets his eyes. In lieu of words, Harry nods his encouragement, and that hint of approval gives Albus the boost of confidence he needs to stand firm.

“I don’t want you to help me,” Delphi says brightly, turning on her heel to face him. “I want you, Albus Severus Potter, to tell me what you think of me.”

“I-“ Albus frowns in confusion, glancing at his dad again. Harry looks just as uncertain as he feels. “I don’t understand.”

She nods. “You heard me. It’s quite simple. Tell me what you think of me. Your opinion. Your emotions. All those thoughts you’ve been holding back for years.”

“But... why?” He lowers his wand again, completely wrong-footed. He came here for a fight. He came here to duel her and free his dad. He came here to save the day, not to chat. This doesn’t make any sense.

She shrugs. “I’m curious.”

“A-and if I don’t tell you...?”

She gives him a sweet little smile and points her wand at Harry. “I’ll make you tell me.“

Albus is hit once again with the memory of Scorpius writhing in agony on the ground, his screams cutting through the air, setting every inch of Albus on edge to the point where just watching was painful. He imagines watching his dad go through that, and he can’t. He can’t let someone else suffer for him like that. Not again.

If she wants to know what he thinks of her then he’ll tell her. It can’t hurt. They’re just words after all. Words and opinions. He’s kept them to himself for so long and the desire to spit them all at her right now is overwhelming. She deserves to hear exactly how she makes him feel, exactly how much he despises her for what she’s done to his life.

“Fine,” he says softly. “I’ll tell you. I wish I’d never met you.” He tucks Scorpius’s wand into his pocket and takes a step towards her. “You hurt me. You poisoned me. For years you made me believe that there was no one except you who loved me. That I didn’t have a future if I was without you. That I _couldn’t_ have a future without you. But it was the opposite. Everything was worse with you. You took away my family so I never had a chance with them, you took away my best friend, and the worst part is that it might have hurt them even more than it hurt me.”

He pauses and runs a hand through his hair. “I actually enjoyed it, you know, a lot of the time: the flying, the adulation, the feeling of being untouchable. I loved it, and I loved you. That’s the stupid thing. You had everything you wanted but you just couldn’t see it because you’re so caught up in your twisted games, just like your father was.”

He pauses again, this time with his fingers hooked over his damaged shoulder as he looks at her, trying to read her inscrutable expression and find out whether what he’s saying is what she expected or wanted. It’s so impenetrable that he can get nothing from her, so he just keeps going, because it feels good to talk, and because while they’re doing this, at least no one’s getting hurt.

“You always told me that the future is mine to make,” he says, “but I don’t think that was ever true, was it? Whatever I became was down to you. You made me into this. You created your own worst enemy. And if you really, truly want to know what I think of you then it’s this. I think you’re despicable and awful and blind, and I’m looking forward to freeing my dad and freeing myself by eviscerating you and hunting down every single person and creature who’s on your side. When we’re done there’ll be nothing left. Not a whisper of a name or even the barest memory of you. You’ll be nothing. And then, maybe, my future will belong to me, just like I was promised.”

He stops, fists clenched, catching his breath as the rage he’s been trying to suppress for so long courses round his body, searing into every tiny part of him. Delphi’s eyes are closed, her hands spread by her sides, like she’s basking in his words and in his anger, and that just infuriates him more. She asked for everything he just said. It should have made an impact.

“Was that what you wanted?” He asks after several seconds of silence when his temper has reached boiling point. “Because I can keep going if you want.”

“Yes,” she whispers, a soft hiss of the word, and he can’t tell if it’s an answer to his question or her telling him to go on, but he never finds out which it is, because that’s the moment when everything changes.

It’s the light that shifts first. Shadows creep across the room like gathering dusk. For a second, Albus’s eyes don’t quite adjust, and he almost loses Delphi among the sudden darkness. But then he spots her again.

Her eyes are still closed, arms still spread wide, and now she’s swathed in a cloak of shadow. The darkness is gathering around her, clinging to her, draping itself from her shoulders, wreathing itself round her head. It spreads on both sides of her, feathering out like wings, and all Albus can do is stare because he has no idea what’s happening.

Beside him on the ground he feels his dad shift, straining against his bonds, and Albus wonders if he might have some idea or explanation for what Delphi’s doing. She still has her eyes closed so Albus crouches down, drawing his wand, and he releases his dad’s bonds and restores his voice with the softest of whispers.

“Albus,” Harry breathes, catching hold of his hand.

“Dad,” Albus murmurs in reply. “What’s happening?”

Harry shakes his head. “No idea. Are you okay?”

“Fine. You?”

Harry nods and squeezes his hand. “Better now I know you’re alright.”

“I don’t think we’re alright yet.” Albus sits on his heels and looks back at Delphi. There’s now so much darkness around her that it’s almost impenetrable, and the daylight behind them burns brighter than it should in contrast. “I don’t even know what’s happening.”

“Nothing good.” Harry shifts his grip to Albus’s wrist and pulls him closer, looking him right in the eye. “Get out of here. Get to safety. I’ll be fine.”

Albus pulls himself free. “No way. I’m not going anywhere. This is my fault. I have to fix it.”

“Albus.” His dad’s expression is hard, and his tone is sharp. Unfortunately, he’s spoken loud enough to catch Delphi’s attention. She opens her eyes and looks at them, and they both stop dead, caught, Harry obviously freed and in the process of conspiring. For a long, drawn out second they all stare at each other, then Albus acts, getting to his feet and taking a step towards her.

“What are you doing? What is this? What _are you_?”

He doesn’t expect her to answer, but maybe she’s so high on whatever new power is seeping into her that she wants to boast, because she smiles and steps towards Albus. The darkness comes with her, hanging from her like a cloak, and when she reaches Albus it pools around her, and he finds that he’s enfolded within the shadows too.

“This,” she murmurs, reaching out to brush her fingers over his chin, “is unstoppable. And it’s all thanks to you.”

He twitches his head away from the soft touch of her fingers, shuddering. “What’s unstoppable? I didn’t do anything.”

“You don’t like me,” she says, now reaching out to take his hand, and this time her grip isn’t soft, it’s painfully strong, and trying to pull free hurts. “You hate me. You wanted to become my worst nightmare, so you’ve made me into yours.” Her fingers creep up Albus’s arm, accompanied by a tendril of encroaching darkness, and she reels him in to plant a hard kiss right on his lips. He manages to free both his hands and shove her hard away, stumbling back against the wall beside his dad, where he stands with his shoulders hunched and his hands over his mouth, trying to wipe away the stain of the kiss.

Delphi doesn’t seem to notice or care what he’s doing. She’s wrapped up in herself, in the rush of whatever this newfound power is.

“I am your rainy day, Albus. I am your omen of death. I am the thing that lurks in the shadows, just out of sight, waiting. Watching. And yes, you made me. You made all of this.”

It shouldn’t be possible for eyes that are pitch black like that to shine so brightly. It’s a paradox. But right now, Delphi’s eyes are blazing with dark, mesmeric fire, and Albus finds himself unable to look away.

“The thing that your precious father, and Dumbledore, and all those other good wizards failed to understand, Albus, is that hatred really is just as powerful as love. Hatred can give a person power and ambition beyond their wildest dreams. It was hatred that made you fly faster and higher than anyone else – hatred of the family that held you back, and hatred of yourself. It was hatred that made you free. And as soon as you fell in love you became weak, everything you ever wanted deserted you. You weren’t fearless anymore. You were chained to that Malfoy boy.

“I’ll admit that love held me back too. When I became obsessed with needing you to like me, to love me, to be on my side, I lost my way. I was so caught up with you that I couldn’t see the bigger picture anymore. But I realise now that I don’t need you to like me. I don’t even need you on my side. Because if you hate me then I’ve already won.”

Albus doesn’t know what to say. He opens his mouth to respond, because he feels as though he should, but as he steps forward a blast of energy throws him off his feet and slams him back against the wall. For a dazed second he doesn’t know where he is. He lifts his head and blinks. A spectacular amount of pain is slicing through his body and the world is grey and fuzzy round the edges. White noise buzzes in his ears as he looks around to see where his dad is, and realises that there’s a lot of dust filling the room now and that one of the walls has a long crack through it.

It takes him a second to spot his dad, but Harry is there, on the floor next to him, looking just as dazed, something dark and sticky staining in his hair.

“Okay?” Albus asks breathlessly. He’s already winded, and the dust isn’t helping him get the air back in his lungs.

Harry groans and touches the back of his head. “Fine,” he lies. “Albus, you need to leave. Go and get help. I’m serious.”

“And I’m seriously not leaving.” Albus start struggling to his knees, snatching Scorpius’s wand from the floor where it’s fallen from his hand. “She’s mine.” He casts a shield around both of them and peers into the darkness and dust, trying to work out where Delphi has gone. She can’t have got far. This is a tiny room, and- There.

She’s in the air, hovering a couple of feet off the floor, and even though Albus doesn’t have time to think about that, he still stops dead, staring.

“You can fly?” He asks, despite himself. “Without a broom! You can...”

“Yes,” she says, glancing down at the ground. “Real flying. Not your sort. Brooms are such unwieldy, unnecessary things. I wish I hadn’t had to deal with them for so long.” She shudders, then her attention snaps back onto Albus, dangerous and sharp, and there’s something in her eye that tells Albus the talking is over. Now they’re in real trouble. “But enough distractions. Time to get down to business. Harry is here so I can kill him, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” She points her wand straight at Harry. “Avada Kedavra.”

Albus knows that a shield won’t help with this, so he throws himself sideways at his dad, bowling them both across the ground. Behind them the spell hits the wall, sending up more dust and making the already-damaged house shake.

A chunk of plaster crumbles from the ceiling, shattering on the ground between them and Delphi, distracting her enough that her next spell is off course by several inches. It gives Albus chance to drag Harry off the floor and into shelter behind the only cover in the room – the overturned baby’s cot.

He flings up a shield which instantly flickers and dies, so he has to waste precious seconds casting it again. As soon as it’s up he turns to Harry. His dad is slumped against the cot, a hand pressed to his head, gaze not quite focused.

“I’m still not very good at healing spells,” Albus murmurs, hand trembling where it’s clenched around the handle of Scorpius’s wand. “I can try to-“

A tendril of darkness punches straight through the cot, splitting it in half and shattering Albus’s shield. It knocks him away from Harry, sending them into separate corners of the room, and now there’s nowhere to hide from Delphi, who looks between them with malevolent joy.

“Did I thank you yet, Albus, for helping me with this? It’s nice to know that you’re on my side after everything.”

“I’m _not_ on your side.” Albus doesn’t look at her as he says it, he’s too busy watching his dad struggling onto his knees on the other side of the room.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees her follow his gaze. “No,” she says, holding her wand lazily between two fingers. “Which is exactly how it should be. And you’ll be even less on my side once I do this. Avada Ked-“

“Expelliarmus.”

The new voice comes from the doorway, which has just flown open behind Delphi. Both she and Albus whip round to look at the newcomers, and they stare as people come spilling into the tiny room. Draco comes first, wand out, eyes locked on Delphi, followed by Scorpius. Ginny glances round the room and moves straight towards Harry as she enters, and when James follows her inside he spots Albus first and starts trying to inch towards him behind Delphi. There are a couple of people from the league too – Albus recognises both Gareth and Jamal, and his heart lifts when he sees them. He and his dad aren’t alone anymore. They might have a chance.

In the chaos it takes Albus a second to realise that Draco’s spell hasn’t quite met its mark. Delphi just manages to hang onto her wand, holding it by the tips of her fingers, and now she’s looking around at her new group of assailants, and Albus just knows that she’s calculating whose death will hurt him the most.

She makes her decision and strikes quick and deadly as a snake. A bolt of red light shoots straight at Scorpius, but thankfully Draco is more than a match for her, and his hasty Shield Charm blocks her Stunning Spell with ease. Next she turns to Harry, but Ginny is there to defend him and shoot a couple of spells back in retaliation. After that everything descends into chaos, and Albus stands transfixed and watches as his family and loved ones duel with the person who was his best friend and only companion for years.

He feels horribly torn, even though he knows it’s stupid. Delphi has caused so much damage, and still plans to cause more. She stole years from them that they’ll never get back. But at the same time Albus doesn’t want her dead, and there’s no other way he can see this duel going, even if it’s just an accident. There has to be another way to do this. There is another way, Delphi as good as told them so.

He looks around wildly, searching the dusty mess of the battle. It’s difficult to see anyone or anything, especially when Delphi’s boiling darkness is engulfing the room, but after a few seconds he catches a glimpse of Scorpius and James crouching by the gaping hole caused by Voldemort’s destruction 48 years ago. Albus keeps his head down and sprints across to them as fast as he can, dodging stray spells and tendrils of blackness that seem to grasp at his feet and try to trip him.

“Scorpius,” he gasps when he reaches them. “James, I need your help.”

James glances at him. “What do you want? If you’ve come up with a wild and reckless scheme I’m all ears. This is ridiculous. How did she get this powerful?”

“Long story,” Albus says, crouching on the ground next to them. “Scorpius, this is yours.” He holds out Scorpius’s wand, and Scorpius stares at him.

“Why are you giving me this?”

Albus frowns. “Because you’re unarmed and you need a wand.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “But then you’ll be unarmed.”

Albus swallows. “I know. I... I don’t need a wand for this.”

“I take it back,” James says, giving him a hard look. “Maybe I’m not up for whatever idea you’ve got. You need a wand, Albus. She’ll kill you!”

“I don’t care.” Albus looks Scorpius right in the eye. “Please. Trust me. I know what I’m doing.” He holds the wand out again, but still Scorpius doesn’t take it.

“This is a really bad idea, Albus. You’re the one she most wants to hurt.”

Albus nods. “And she won’t do that by attacking me. She’ll do it by attacking you. Take it, Scorpius. I want you to have it.” He takes advantage of Scorpius’s stunned silence and slightly open palm to press the wand into his hand.

Scorpius closes his fingers round it and glances down at it. “If you die because-“

Albus brushes his fingers over the back of Scorpius’s hand. “Just know that I love you. And that you’re my best friend. And we should have had more time together. I want forever with you, and I’m going to try and get it, but if I don’t, then... Just know that it wasn’t because I don’t love you, because I do. More than anyone. And I’m sorry I didn’t get to say so sooner.”

Scorpius looks at him, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Please don’t die.”

Albus doesn’t say anything, he just leans across and kisses him softly on the lips, threading his fingers through Scorpius’s soft silver hair. He doesn’t want to pull away or let go, but he does, every part of him aching at the loss already. He takes a steadying breath and turns to James, not wanting to look at Scorpius anymore because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to go through with the plan if he does.

“I need you to shield me.”

James hesitates. “Albus, what are you going to-“

“Just do it. Please. Or I’ll have to go without you, and that’ll be a hundred times worse.”

James considers for a second, mouth twitching at the corner as he thinks, then he sighs and nods. “Fine. Someone has to try and make sure you don’t get killed I suppose. Let’s go.” He gets up then pauses. “Where are we going?”

Albus nods towards Delphi. “I’m going to talk to her.”

“You’re going to _talk_ to her,” James says dubiously. “That’s your grand plan?”

Albus nods. “I talk, you cover me. Ready?”

“Um, no.” James catches hold of his arm before he can go anywhere. “This is a really stupid idea, Albus. I know stupid ideas are sort of your thing but this one is really really stupid.”

Albus twists his arm free. “Then I’ll go on my own.” He sets off across the room, not bothering to keep his head down, standing as tall as he can and looking right at Delphi. He wants her to see him coming. He knows she won’t hurt him yet. It’s just friendly fire he has to worry about for the moment. Behind him, James swears, and a second later there’s a shield around them both, and James is walking along next to him, cursing him and his stupid ideas.

Albus ignores his brother and focuses on catching Delphi’s eye. It doesn’t take long for her to spot him, and when she does she gives him a sharp, quizzical look, like she can’t quite work out what he wants. So far she’s the only one who’s seen him. Through all the darkness and dust everyone else is continuing to attack, and a steady rain of misfired spells patter against James’s shield as Albus stands and looks up at Delphi.

“It’s not true,” he says. “What you said about me hating you. I don’t, and I never did.”

Whatever Delphi expected him to say, it wasn’t that. She does a small double take, then frowns. “What?”

“You heard,” Albus says. “I don’t hate you.”

Delphi still doesn’t seem to have understood, so Albus presses on.

“What you’re doing is disgusting. It’s awful, and I wish you would stop, but... I don’t hate you, Delphi. You were my best friend, and I’m just sorry that you could never understand that. I feel so sorry for you.”

Delphi blinks, then she snorts derisively. “You’re a liar. You just want me to stop. You’re afraid that your hatred is causing all this.” She looks around and shoots a curse in Scorpius’s direction. Previously it would have found its mark, but Scorpius is shielding now, still crouching by the wall and staring at Albus but protecting himself, so the curse glances off. And it’s then that Albus notices something else.

Before, the darkness of Delphi’s magic had stretched all the way across the room towards Scorpius, but now it doesn’t quite. And as Albus looks in that direction he sees the magic ebbing, inching back towards Delphi, the darkness shrinking with every passing second. The plan is working, and she hasn’t yet noticed what’s happening.

“No,” Albus says, clenching his fists and standing up straighter. “No it’s not. It’s the truth, Delphi. You just couldn’t ever see it. I wanted you as a friend. I told you so many times that I loved you, but you could never believe it. You never understood that I could love more than one person but I do. I’m in love with Scorpius. I love my family. I love the friends I made in the league. And I love you. There was never any hatred, not even after everything. I just... I wish things could have been different.”

“Well they’re not different,” Delphi says, voice rising towards hysteria. “This is how it is, and I’m going to destroy everyone you love, and then I’m going to destroy you. Starting with him.” Albus expects her gaze to fall on Scorpius or Harry, but it doesn’t. She looks directly at James who’s right in front of her, and Albus doesn’t have time to warn him before she makes two vicious swipes through the air with her wand. The first spell scythes through James’s shield, breaking it. The second hits him in the shoulder and he crumples to the ground with a yell of agony.

It takes Albus a second to comprehend that James isn’t actually dead. He’s on the ground clutching his arm and there’s a lot of blood but he’s alive. The second after that, the one it takes him to remember that James was shielding him and that he doesn’t have a wand to do it himself, is the one that does the damage. A stray spell from the corner where his parents are hits him in the chest and he staggers back and crumples to the ground wheezing, all the breath knocked out of him.

Thankfully, James isn’t too hurt to act. He lifts his head and calls out to the maelstrom of darkness, dust, and magic.

“Everyone stop attacking us!”

It shouldn’t work, Albus thinks as he tries to sit up and catch his breath. Everyone should ignore him. Delphi could be impersonating him or she could have him under the Imperius. But it works. The spells ease off, and as they do some of the dust settles, and Delphi’s darkness continues to shrink back, enough to expose the people crouched in every corner of the room who are now staring at the two of them in the centre of the room, crumpled at Delphi’s feet.

“No,” Ginny gasps when she sees them, and even in his slightly hazy, disoriented state, Albus knows she’s looking at the blood staining James’s shirt, and how close the two of them are to Delphi, for the moment completely unprotected.

Albus opens his mouth to call back, but he doesn’t get the chance to say a word, because at that moment Delphi spots the darkness, which is withering and dying away now, letting light back into the room.

“What-“ She stares at the shadow for a second, then she looks at Albus and locks eyes with him. “You. You’re doing this.”

With an effort, Albus inches onto his knees. “Yes, I am. I told you I was telling the truth. I don’t hate you. None of us do.” He looks around at the others, willing them to agree with him, because if any of them don’t then his plan will fall apart.

For a second there’s silence, then James nods. “Right. No we don’t. You’ve done some pretty shitty things, but...” he shrugs.

Albus gives silent thanks for his brother and struggles to his feet. “If we don’t hate you, you have nothing. You have no power. You’ve lost. You might as well give in.”

Delphi shakes her head, and as the darkness closes in around her, so she alone is swamped by it, she looks afraid for the first time. “No. No that’s not true. You’re lying. You-“ She points her wand at Harry, who’s sitting on the floor with his back to the wall. “Crucio.” The spell hits, and Albus sees his dad tense from the pain, but it doesn’t have nearly the power it should do, and Delphi quickly lowers her wand, eyes wide. “This is impossible.”

“No, it’s not. It’s happening. But you can stop it. You just have to-“

“No!” Delphi falls out of the sky as her power of flight fails her. She lands awkwardly but stumbles to her feet, brandishing her wand, and she lets loose with a flurry of spells. She’s so wild that none of them hit their intended target. Chunks of plaster come loose from the walls and ceiling, dust rises from the floor, the people in the room all duck, but it’s not long before the spells start to become ineffective. The light from them is duller, they don’t do as much damage or fly as far. And Delphi herself is starting to struggle.

The darkness around her is no more than a shadow now, and she falls to one knee on the ground, a hand pressed over her heart as Albus stares in horror. She looks like she’s dying. This wasn’t what he wanted. This wasn’t meant to happen.

“Help,” he calls to the others as he rushes to her side. “Someone help her. I don’t have a wand, and I don’t know how to-“ She slumps backwards and he catches her, pulling into her arms and supporting her head. “What’s happening?” He asks softly, lowering his voice to speak to her. “How do we stop this? You must know. This is your spell.”

She looks up at him; the only darkness left in her vicinity now is the glittering black of her eyes. “You can’t.” Her voice is hoarse, and she looks strangely triumphant about the statement, as if him not being able to save her is a victory, but it’s not. It’s a disaster. There has to be a way to help her.

He feels people moving up behind him, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Delphi to see who’s there. “Someone with a wand,” he says to them. “Heal her. Help her.”

She shakes her head. “There’s nothing they can do. I’m beyond healing.” A weak smile flickers across her face and she reaches up and strokes a finger down Albus’s cheek. “Your love has killed me. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Albus whispers, shifting her in his arms so he can catch hold of her wrist. “Just tell me. I know you know.”

“Why-“ She suddenly gasps, and her eyes flutter closed, body convulsing.

Albus doesn’t know what to do, so he grips her tight. “No, no. Stay with me. Come on.”

It takes a second before she relaxes again, and when she does she draws in a shallow breath and opens her eyes. “Why don’t you just... hate me? That might... That might help.”

Albus bows his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Then...” Her eyes close again, and when she inhales it looks like such hard work. “Then this is it... Albus... Severus... Potter...” The last word is barely more than a breath, and Albus gathers her closer to him and looks desperately around at the others. James is sitting nearby, still holding his arm. Scorpius is hovering beside Draco, who is closest and looks lost for what to do.

“Can one of you try something?” Albus snaps. “You can’t just let her die.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Draco murmurs. “I don’t know what she’s done, or how to-“

“If it was Scorpius you’d be doing everything! Anything you could think of. It wouldn’t matter.”

“I’ll call St Mungo’s,” Scorpius says in a quiet, choked voice. “I can-“

“Do you want me to do it?” Draco asks.

“No, no. It’s fine.” Scorpius raises his wand and casts his Patronus, bathing the room in dazzling silver light. “Go to St Mungo’s. Tell them there are at least... at least three people seriously hurt-“

“I’m not _seriously_ hurt,” James interjects. “I’m just...” He trails off, seeming to realise that now is not the time, and he waves a hand in apology, bowing his head.

“We’re at the ruin in Godric’s Hollow,” Scorpius continues. “Lily and James Potter’s house. They need to be quick. Someone’s dying.”

The silver albatross hesitates for a moment then emits a soft call of understanding and disappears.

Albus looks back down at Delphi, who’s gone very pale, who doesn’t seem to be breathing much, who is dying. “She was my best friend,” he whispers. “We have to save her. She can’t- she can’t die.” And that’s when the tears come.

They drip down his cheeks, and it feels so stupid to be crying over someone who’s caused so much damage, but he can’t help it. He doesn’t want her to die. Maybe if she lived she could make amends. Maybe. At least there would be a chance.

“Come on,” he begs, voice thick with tears, but no one does anything to help.

A couple of his tears drip down onto Delphi’s weakening form, and as they do she opens her eyes. Her gaze is unfocused, but a slow smile crosses her face, another of her triumphant smiles.

“Are you crying over me?” She asks. “I... I like that. I like it... a lot. You... feel guilty, Sev. Guilt... isn’t hatred, but... it’s almost better.” She gasps in a breath and slowly lifts her hand, with the wand still clasped in her grip. “It means... it means we can both die with you feeling guilty, which I love.” Then, before Albus has time to comprehend her words, she presses the tip of her wand to his chest.

“Avada Kedavra.”

Wind rushes.

Everything goes black.


	19. Aftermath

_“What would you do if I just disappeared?” Albus asks during Herbology on a February morning during sixth year._

_Scorpius glances up from the Shrivelfig he’s pruning and gives Albus a hard look. “Are you planning to disappear?”_

_Albus doesn’t answer. He gives a very small shrug and fiddles with a dead leaf on the trunk of his fig._

_Scorpius puts his shears down, glances across the greenhouse to make sure that Professor Longbottom is definitely distracted, then he ducks down behind his plant, folds his arms on the desk, and fixes Albus with a solid silver stare. “That wasn’t a no, Albus. What are you thinking?”_

_Albus swallows, then he ducks down too, so they’re both in the dappled shadow of their bushes, face to face, and it feels like they’re alone in this comfortable world that smells of earth and petrichor._

_“Over the holidays, I um... My dad and I, we...” He looks down at his fingers, which are grubby like they always are during Herbology, and starts picking dirt from beneath his nails so he doesn’t have to look at Scorpius._

_“Had another fight?” Scorpius guesses._

_Albus nods. “On my last night at home. And he said that... that if I was so unhappy then maybe I should just leave, so...” He glances at Scorpius. “I thought it seemed worth a try. It can’t make anything worse, can it?”_

_Scorpius blinks, expression suddenly fixed and unreadable. Albus recognises the Malfoy veneer that Scorpius has learned over the years from his dad. He’s become very good at using it as a mask for his feelings, particularly since his mum died._

_“When would you go?” Scorpius asks. “Where would you go? How long for? If it’s just for the summer maybe I could-“_

_“I’d leave on my birthday,” Albus says. He’s thought about this. Once he’s seventeen he’ll be able to do magic. He’ll be an adult. He can take care of himself. “And I’d just... go. Forever, I guess. Maybe? I don’t know how hard it is to run away... I don’t know if anyone would find me. Or if I’d get lonely, or... but why run if it’s not for a new start? That wouldn’t get rid of my problems.”_

_“You could just fix the problems and stay,” Scorpius suggests quietly._

_“Easier said than done.”_

_There’s a short, tense bit of silence, which Albus can’t quite bear, so he sits up and starts taking clippings from his Shrivelfig._

_“You still haven’t said where you’d go,” Scorpius points out as he too sits up and picks a couple of dead leaves off his bush._

_“I don’t really know,” Albus says, carefully focusing on his precise, perfect incisions. He gives them much more attention than they need._

_“Yes you do.”_

_Albus’s shoulders slump. “If I told anyone then it wouldn’t be running away, would it?”_

_“I’m your best friend,” Scorpius says. “You can trust me.”_

_“I think...” Albus shakes his head and turns the pot round. As careful as he is, the leaves tremble, and one of the ripe figs dies instantly, squirting juice all over the place as it becomes a shrivelled, dry husk. Albus swears and leans over the plant to scoop his notes out of the way before they get saturated. In the process he kills at least three more figs and attracts Professor Longbottom’s attention._

_“Watch out, Albus,” he says as he waves his wand and the juice vanishes. “Next time maybe you can try to use magic to clear up the mess. You’ll do less damage to the plant too. What do you think?”_

_“Right,” Albus says miserably. The fact is that he still can’t really do the vanishing charm he’d need to clear up the mess. If he’d tried he might have vanished the desk or his books, or maybe nothing would have happened at all and he’d have lost all his work._

_“The cuttings are looking excellent though,” Professor Longbottom adds kindly before he walks away. “Very nice work. Keep it up. Yours are quite good too, Scorpius. Just keep them more regular, and remember what I said about the buds.”_

_Albus looks down at his neat set of cuttings and realises that they are actually quite nice, and he’s done far less damage to his bush getting them than everyone else in the class has. He folds his notes away and decides to at least temporarily quit while he’s ahead. Instead he focuses his attention on Scorpius._

_“I think that out of everyone, you’d be the only person who’d want to follow me though. That’s why I can’t tell you where I’m going.”_

_Scorpius waves his shears at Albus. “That’s not true at all.”_

_“True or not, you didn’t answer my question. What would you do if I disappeared?”_

_Scorpius shrugs. “I suppose I’d have a lot more sweets to myself, and I’d get to read more, and my homework would be done a whole lot faster – actually maybe not Potions. And-“_

_“You’d be fine then,” Albus interrupts, not wanting to hear anymore._

_“_ And _,” Scorpius goes on, “I’d be more unhappy than I’ve been in a very long time. Possibly ever.” He fixes Albus with that sharp, shining, starlike gaze, and Albus finds himself trapped briefly in Scorpius’s orbit. “Don’t go,” Scorpius says softly. “Please, Albus. I don’t really want to live my life without you. School’s nearly over now, just a year and a half to go, and once that’s done you’re free. Just stay. For a little while. For me. And for yourself.”_

_It takes a considerable effort for Albus to drag his gaze away and not just give in. “I’ll think about it,” he murmurs, and starts planting his cuttings._

Scorpius has had the same nightmare every time he’s tried to sleep for the last two weeks, and he’s having it again now. He’s in a room that’s crumbling into pieces. Everything is thick with dust, so thick that he can’t breathe properly. He clutches at his chest and stumbles forward, trying to get to the centre of the room and stop what’s going to happen before it does.

Darkness clings to his legs and ankles, tripping him, holding him back. Unable to catch his breath he doesn’t have the energy he needs to make it. He struggles forward, desperate, panicking, knowing what will happen if he doesn’t get there.

Two figures emerge out of the dust, right in the heart of the room. One is curled round the other, cradling her in his arms. He’s crying. He doesn’t know what’s about to happen. He doesn’t know what she’ll use her last breath to do.

Scorpius opens his mouth to cry out but he chokes on the dust and he makes no sound. Then he hears the soft whisper of a voice.

“Avada Kedavra.”

There’s a flash of green light and Albus crumples to the ground and lies still.

Everything releases, and Scorpius sprints to him, begging him to be alive, but before he can get there, before he can take hold of Albus’s hand, the room breaks apart and Scorpius is falling. Down down down. Into darkness that swallows him whole. And as he’s about to hit the unseen, shadowed ground, he wakes with a yell, sweating and shaking and crying, heart hammering, every inch of him thrumming with fear.

On this particular night he must scream louder than normal because a second later the door bursts open and Draco comes flying into the room.

“I heard you-“

Scorpius turns away, trying to wipe his eyes, curling in on himself so he can try to be invisible. Maybe then his dad will go away and not have to see him like this. “I-I’m fine,” he says, gulping down sobs. “Fine. Just-“

“The nightmare again,” Draco sighs. Scorpius feels him deflate, the tension melting away as any threat of danger disappears.

Scorpius swallows and nods. He inches his way up the bed and curls up with his back against the headboard, looking away from his dad. “I want it to stop,” he murmurs.

“I know,” Draco says. He brushes a hand through his hair, pushing a number of stray strands out of his eyes. When Scorpius looks at him out of the corner of his eye, he sees that his dad looks as exhausted as he feels. There are dark circles under his dad’s eyes, and his robes are unusually creased. Even the fact that his hair is escaping its bonds means he’s been up far too long.

“You should be asleep,” Scorpius mutters, surreptitiously trying to wipe his eyes on his sleeve. Of course his dad spots it instantly and hands him a tissue.

“I just got back from the hospital,” Draco says stiffly. “I was about to go to bed when...”

“Sorry.” Scorpius hangs his head. “You should just go. I can take some of the Potion, and...” He makes a vague gesture with his hand.

“You hate that stuff,” his dad says. “And I know it doesn’t help you rest properly.”

“Not really.” Scorpius fiddles with his sleeve. “Better than the alternative though.”

“I could stay with you. It helped the other night. I know it did.”

“ _No,_ ” Scorpius says firmly. “Go to bed, Dad. I should get up anyway.”

“You look exhausted.”

“So do you.” Scorpius stubbornly swings his legs over the side of the bed and stumbles to his feet. As he does a spasm of pain washes through his body, and he clutches at one of the posts for support, squeezing his eyes shut. The effects of the torture still haven’t worn off. He doesn’t know when they will. They might not ever. So he just has to deal with the pain when it comes. It’s hardly the worst thing they’re all facing at the moment.

“See,” he says, forcing himself to sound cheerful. “I’m up now.”

“Are you hurting?” His dad asks. He’s impossible to hide anything from.

Scorpius sighs. “What do you think?” He turns and starts picking clothes up off the floor and flinging them over his shoulder onto his bed. Eventually he settles on a comfortable grey t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. He finds a jumper too, also grey and softly knitted. It’s too warm for the temperature outside but sometimes it gets cold in the hospital.

“I need a minute to get changed,” he says, wiggling the clothes in his dad’s direction.

Draco doesn’t move, instead he looks Scorpius in the eye. “There’s no point going to the hospital. I know you know that.”

Scorpius drops the clothes to his side and gazes at his dad, his insides freezing over.

“Nothing has changed,” Draco goes on. “I don’t think it’s sensible for you to sacrifice your health for this. You need to sleep. We all do. Ginny agrees with me. This isn’t what Albus would-“

Scorpius stops listening and starts pulling his t-shirt off. If his dad won’t leave then he’ll just get on with it. He drops his pyjama t-shirt in his rampant laundry pile and pulls the soft, clean grey one over his head instead, messing up his hair. When he emerges, his dad is still going.

“There shouldn’t even be a chance, Scorpius. The faintest bit of hope isn’t enough for us all to stop living. I know it’s something, but... there’s always _something_. If it wasn’t this it would be another thing. Time-Turners, ghosts, the Resurrection Stone, goodness knows what else. You’ve always been hopeful, it’s one of the things you get from your mother, but sometimes...” He trails off. “Sometimes hope isn’t enough.”

Scorpius kicks his pyjama bottoms off and wriggles into the jeans. They cling to his legs, tight, and for a second he has to fight the urge to pull them off because he can feel tendrils of darkness wrapping round him and it’s too much. But he gulps in a breath, pulls them up, and starts fiddling with the button and flies, then with a belt. Finally he hugs the jumper to his chest and looks at his dad.

“You couldn’t save Mum,” he says.

There’s a pause before his dad inclines his head. “That’s correct.”

“But that was different,” Scorpius says. “Or it wasn’t. Not while she was alive. I know you did everything you could. But once she was gone...” He clenches his fingers tight in the soft folds of his jumper. “Albus isn’t gone. Not yet. And I’m going to do everything I can too. I-“ He swallows and bows his head. “I lost him before. I don’t want finding him to be for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for-“

“I don’t want to lose him again,” Scorpius corrects himself, voice rising, chest tightening. He shuffles his feet on the floor and tries to steady himself, tries to deepen his breathing. Finally he lifts his head. “Please go to bed, Dad. I’ll call when something changes.”

His dad opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again and nods. “Try and rest while you’re there at least.”

“Promise.”

James is in the room when Scorpius arrives. He’s slumped in a chair next to the bed, staring blankly at the far wall. It’s painfully still and quiet – James looks like he might fall asleep any second, and Albus is obviously...

Scorpius has made a habit of trying to avoid looking at him, especially when there are other people around. It’s not that he’s covered head to toe in injuries or anything. Really it’s the opposite. He looks so perfect, like the best sculptor in the world has carved a statue of Albus out of marble or wax. He’s pristine and beautiful. His unusually pale, cold skin is unblemished and soft. His eyes are closed like he’s just resting them. There’s nothing visibly wrong with him at all. But he still might never wake up. He’s hanging somewhere between life and death in horrible stasis, in some unstable equilibrium where he could go either way at any second. So Scorpius tries not to look at him, because he hates being reminded that Albus is _right there_ but hanging on a knife edge and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“Hi, James,” Scorpius says as he nudges the door open.

James jumps, then groans and rubs his eyes. “Hi. I’m awake.”

“You look exhausted.”

“It’s a new look I’m trying.”

“I don’t think it suits you,” Scorpius says. Normally James looks alright – he’s related to Albus after all – but exhaustion hasn’t been kind to him. He looks dull and blotchy, like his normal fire has been extinguished.

He runs a hand through his hair and it sticks up at the back just like Albus’s does, so Scorpius looks away.

“Mum doesn’t think so either. She tried to persuade me to go home, but I thought someone should be here...” He glances at Albus and his thoughts are plain to read. What if he wakes up and thinks we’ve abandoned him?

“Did your parents go home?” Scorpius asks, sitting in his normal chair that’s not right beside the bed – that feels just a bit too optimistic – but close enough that he could get there in a couple of strides if he had to.

James nods. “Mum had to basically drag Dad out. Not that it was hard, he’s not exactly up to a fight right now.” He sighs and runs his hands through his hair again, messing it up in new and fascinating ways, none of which are quite Albus-y enough to hurt. It helps that his hair is shining auburn and gold in the ruby glow of the setting sun. Albus’s hair could never achieve such extraordinary colours. It would have stayed stubbornly, comfortingly black.

“Our parents,” James says carefully, eyeing Scorpius. “They think that we should...” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. Maybe he expects Scorpius to be upset by them, but right now Scorpius is too tired to be upset by almost anything.

“I know,” he says, cutting James off mid-thought. “My dad talked to me before I came... He doesn’t think-“ He glances at Albus and swallows. It feels wrong to talk about in front of him. “But he would have done this for my mum, so I don’t think he really expects...”

“No,” James says softly. “He didn’t seem pleased about the suggestion that we might all just-“ He gestures towards the door and the world at large. “I don’t even think Mum really meant it. She’s just worried about us. And Dad’s obviously a disaster, so... She wants to protect us. But we’re adults, right? We can make our own stupid decisions.”

Scorpius gives a little smile. “It’s what Albus would have done. The king of stupid decisions.”

“Exactly.” James nods and tugs on his hair, but he looks relieved. “I’m glad we agree.”

“Of course we do.” Scorpius pulls his feet up onto the chair and hugs his knees. “You should go home and sleep.”

James shakes his head. “I’ve only been here a couple of hours really. I might go and get some coffee though. Do you want some?”

“Caffeine isn’t a permanent solution to sleep, James.”

James smiles. “But it is a temporary one.”

“I’ll have a tea,” Scorpius relents, digging a couple of Sickles out of his pocket and passing them across to James. “Thanks.”

James gets to his feet, looks at his reflection in the window and pulls a face, then turns to the door. “I’ll be back in a bit. Tell him to behave while I’m gone.”

“I’ll do my best to keep him under control,” Scorpius promises, then the door closes and he’s left alone with Albus.

It’s the first time in two weeks that they’ve been alone. Normally Harry or Ginny is here as well, and maybe a Healer or two, but now it’s just them and the stillness of the room. For a few minutes Scorpius just sits in his chair and looks at Albus. He hugs his knees and takes in Albus’s pristine form, not knowing what to do or say. Part of him wants to get up and leave, but the louder part of him says that leaving Albus would be the wrong thing to do. He’s helping just by being here, and as hard as it is, he’s not going to walk away. Letting go has never been something he’s capable of where Albus is concerned.

Cautiously, he gets to his feet and pads over to the bed. It’s the closest he’s been to Albus since the night in Godric’s Hollow, and he’s still wary of it. Albus is so cold now, and he’s so fragile like this. He knows that any bit of damage might be what finishes Albus off. It’s dangerous to be so close to him. But Scorpius wants to be close, so he crouches down beside the bed and reaches up to brush a strand of hair back from Albus’s face.

“Do you remember,” he says softly, “when you asked me what I’d do if you disappeared? I told you I’d be more unhappy than I’ve been in a very long time, and I was right. A-and it’s still true now.” He drops his hands onto the mattress and bows his head. “Please don’t disappear, Albus. I need you. Your family need you. You’ve got so much more to do. You can change your mind this time. _Please_ change your mind.”

He brushes his fingers against Albus’s hand, then rests his forehead on the edge of the mattress and closes his eyes, and he’s so exhausted that within seconds he’s asleep.

When the darkness fades and Albus becomes aware of himself again, he realises that he’s sitting somewhere warm and bright. It’s foggy at first, and the light is almost painful to look at, so he closes his eyes, rubs them, blinks a few times, then has another go at looking around.

As he does, he realises that he recognises the place where he’s sitting. It’s the broom shed in his parents’ back garden. It’s the place where he first met- Why he’s here he doesn’t know. An even better question is how he got here. He was in Godric’s Hollow when she- Realisation dawns as he looks out through the open shed doors and across the rolling moors, currently stained red by the setting sun. Maybe he’s dead. Maybe this is what death is like.

He looks around and sees a broom lying next to him. Not just any broom, and not one that’s ever been anywhere near his parents’ broom shed. This is _his_ broom. His racing broom. And as he looks at it, he realises just how inviting the evening skies look – clear and warm and cloudless. It would be a beautiful night to go flying.

He looks around some more, and that’s when he looks down at himself and realises that he’s completely naked.

Things are different though. It’s not just that his clothes are gone. His arms are bare too – completely bare. There are no scars to be seen, and no swirling tattoos covering them. He runs his hands down all the way to his wrists and his skin is smoother than it’s been in years. He’s entirely unblemished and it’s strange but at the same time it feels wonderful to be free of the constant, biting pain.

He hooks a hand over his shoulder and contorts his body to try and cover himself up. He’s not that far from the road, and as exciting as it is for his scars to have disappeared, the last thing he needs is for someone to walk past and see him sitting stark naked in his parents’ broom shed. It might raise a few eyebrows.

No sooner has he thought this than he spots a folded up pile of clothes on the ground just in front of him. He dives across for it, keen to cover himself up and also recognising that if he does decide to go flying it will be exceptionally uncomfortable to do so without any clothes.

He picks the clothes up and unfolds them, recognising his own dragon hide flying gear as he slips them on. He thinks about leaving his jacket off, but his arms look strangely bare without any decoration, so he shrugs it on and decides that if tattoos are even possible here, he’ll get new ones as soon as he can.

Now he’s dressed he sits back down and picks up the broom, laying it across his lap. It hums under his touch, a contented sound, and it feels gently warm. It’s happy to be here and he’s happy to have it with him. It’s been a constant companion through a lot of loneliness, and he considers the fact that death might be lonely too. The only person he really knows who’s died is Delphi, and she-

He buries his face in his hands as a heavy wave of dizzying emotion rushes over him. She tried to kill him with her last breath. No, she _did_ kill him. She wanted him to die guilty. She wouldn’t let him save her. Maybe being here alone in the place where he first met her is his punishment for not trying hard enough.

But no. This isn’t a punishment. It doesn’t feel like one at least. Punishment would be ice cold, dark, and miserable, whereas this shed has always been one of his favourite places. When he makes himself inhale now – even though he supposes he doesn’t need to breathe anymore now he’s dead – he smells wood shavings and varnish. The sun is warm on his face, and he has his broom with him. If he wanted to, he knows he could step through the door and fly off into that glorious sunset, and he’d never have to come back. He’d be free forever. No more guilt or worry. No more pain. Just him and his broom and the sky, which is pretty much all he’s ever wanted, isn’t it?

He picks at a stray twig in the tail of the broom and stretches his feet out in front of him. It would be the easiest thing in the world to fly away and leave everything behind, but every time he thinks about getting on his broom, kicking off from the ground, and taking to those vibrant skies, he gets a weird pressure in his chest. It’s the pressure of knowing it wouldn’t be the right thing to do. There’s another option, a harder one, but that doesn’t mean he knows what it is. What’s his alternative here? He’s dead, and his family and Scorpius aren’t, so there’s no one to wait for or search for. Unless he’s meant to look for Delphi, but he has absolutely no desire to do that.

He gets to his feet, holding the broom loosely by his side as he ducks out of the open shed doors. The landscape slopes away, and he can see down the hill towards the village. To the other side is the orchard, with The Burrow beyond, and then past that, more rolling hills. It really is a beautiful place to live, and Albus has spent years trying not to think about how much he’s missed it.

He steps forward, away from the shed, and as he does, he glances over his shoulder and spots the house, Holly Cottage itself. A pang of unexpected grief cuts through him, and he grips the broom and swallows a couple of times to try and compose himself.

He’s never going to see his parents again. Or James. Or Lily. He’ll never again get to sit in that kitchen for Sunday lunch and eat his dad’s Yorkshire puddings. He’ll never sleep in his bed again. He’ll never get chance to properly make amends for everything he’s put them through. And maybe they’ll barely notice he’s gone – they’ve been without him for long enough already – but for him, this time hurts so much more. This time he didn’t walk away. This time he’s been torn away right at the start of something. It was going to be better. There was so much promise. And now it’s gone. Gone for him and gone for them.

It’s pointless walking towards the house, but he does it anyway. He pads slowly across the patio, looking at the neatly pruned Flutterby bushes that his mum always took such pride in maintaining, and at the ordinary Muggle sunflowers that his dad always encouraged them to grow. There’s the upturned fragment of flower pot they put out as a shelter for the Knarl family that frequented their garden when Albus was little. He sat on the step by the backdoor, still and silent, with his mum beside him, watching as they snuffled out of the bushes and across the grass.

When he gets to the house he’s surprised to notice that the kitchen windows are ablaze with golden light. It’s spilling out of the side window and down towards the road, but it’s also shining across the patio towards him from the pane of glass in the back door. It looks so warm and inviting, and even though he knows there’ll be no one inside, he still walks towards it and presses his face to the glass so he can peer into the kitchen.

To his surprise, there are people in there. They’re sitting at the kitchen table, plain as day, and when he squashes his nose against the glass they look up at him. His mum and dad, Lily, and James, all sitting there, with the empty chair beside them that he’s supposed to fill. It doesn’t make any sense that they’d be there, but it’s not like he’s been dead before. Maybe this is just what it’s like. Maybe it makes your most impossible wishes come true.

He twists the handle and steps back so he can pull the door open. Even though it’s not a cold evening he still shivers with happiness as the warmth of the kitchen washes over him, and he steps over the threshold into the golden light.

His mum gets to her feet to greet him, and he looks at her.

“Can I join you?” He asks.

He never gets an answer.

The second he speaks, the bright kitchen fades as quickly as it came. He’s surrounded by bright white light, endless and overwhelming. It’s bright enough to make his head hurt, so he squeezes his eyes shut and plunges himself into darkness.

The darkness is still very warm, just as warm as the kitchen, and he can feel something soft beneath him. He thinks he might be lying in a bed. He feels a bit light headed, like the world is slowly rotating around him, so he’s glad he’s lying down. He’s especially glad he’s somewhere so comfortable. This is a really good bed, just firm enough, and the blankets are weighing him down.

He inhales and his chest hurts. That’s new. That wasn’t happening before. Why does his chest hurt if he’s dead? He exhales and inhales more cautiously. It hurts a bit less this time, so he decides to keep breathing very gently.

After a few minutes he gets breathing down to an exact science. He can get in enough breath and there’s no pain at all. It’s perfect, and he’s pleased enough with the achievement to try opening his eyes.

It’s very bright wherever he is, so he immediately closes them and starts again, squinting and opening them a crack at a time, letting them slowly adjust to the light. Finally he has them fully open and he glances around at some sort of hospital room.

He recognises it as St Mungo’s – this is exactly like the room he sat in with Draco when Scorpius was sick. The only question is, why is he here? He thought he was dead. But he’s in a hospital and he’s in pain, which implies that he is, in fact, alive...

He keeps looking around the room, as much as he can see of it while he’s lying down. On one side of the bed is a bedside cabinet with several abandoned paper coffee cups piled on top. There’s also a book about Quidditch strategies lying there, face down with the pages open. That _has_ to be James’s book, and if James is here then that must mean that Albus is definitely alive.

Albus draws in a careful, shaky breath and tries to work out how to deal with this new information. He remembers the flash of green light, and Delphi’s wand pressed to his chest. He remembers everything going black. He even remembers the words she’d said. Him being alive is impossible. Flat out impossible. But here he is.

Attempting to comprehend the fact that he’s somehow, just like his dad, survived a Killing Curse is too much. His head is starting to hurt and he feels utterly exhausted already, even though he’s only been awake for a few seconds. So he stops thinking, and goes back to looking around the room.

It takes a considerable effort to roll his head from one side to the other. He must have been lying here for a while because every muscle he’s moved so far has felt stiff and heavy. But eventually he’s managed to tip his head to the right, and when he does he sees the most glorious thing he’s ever seen in his life.

Scorpius is fast asleep beside him, his head resting on the mattress, one hand trailing inches from Albus’s own. It can only be Scorpius, because even though Albus can’t see his face he knows that no one else has hair so soft and silver-bright. It’s shining in the lamplight, and the gentle waves look so beautiful and inviting. With a titanic effort that sends pain jolting through Albus’s entire body, he lifts his hand and rests it lightly on top of Scorpius’s head, digging his fingers into the thick, warm locks. It’s like touching spun gold, and all the pain is so worth it.

He brushes his fingers down to Scorpius’s temple and rests them there, half buried in his hair, but resting against his skin. He can feel the faint pulse of Scorpius’s heartbeat there, and that’s the surest sign yet that they’re both alive. They’re alive, and Scorpius is here, waiting by Albus’s bed, and Albus’s family must have been here too, and _Albus is alive_.

The certainty of it rushes over him, and that’s when he starts to cry.

Crying hurts. It hurts a lot. His chest is throbbing, and every snatched breath feels like someone is slicing into the skin over his heart. His body shakes, and every little movement sends ripples of agony running through him. The worst part is that he simply can’t stop. He tries to gather himself together but every time he feels his fingers shift in Scorpius’s hair and he’s reminded that he’s alive and that his family are here he’s hit with a fresh wave of tears.

It takes a considerable effort not to grip Scorpius’s hair in response to the agony, and apparently he doesn’t quite manage it, because he hears a groan and a mumble of pain, and then Scorpius is sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Albus’s fingers fall from his hair, and he clenches them, digging his fingernails into his palm and screwing up every muscle in his body to try and fight back the pain. He’s so preoccupied with trying to survive how much everything hurts that he doesn’t really register the fact that Scorpius is awake and with him. There’s far too much else going on, his senses overloaded, but when he looks back later he’ll know, and maybe it’s the vague knowledge of Scorpius’s presence that gets him through those initial minutes.

There’s something touching Scorpius’s hair. It tickles a bit, but it’s not annoying. He doesn’t think a fly’s landed on him or anything; it’s more like someone is running their fingers through his hair. It feels nice. It reminds him of Albus.

He squeezes his eyes tight shut and decides to pretend for a bit that it really is Albus. There’s probably a far more likely explanation – his dad has decided to come and join him, or the edge of Albus’s blanket is touching him – but for the moment it’s nice to hold onto this tiny fantasy.

But just as he’s drifting off to sleep again, he feels a distinct tugging on his scalp, hard enough to hurt, and he winces and grumbles. He opens his eyes and lifts his head an inch, and the pulling sensation goes away, but instead he feels the bed shaking. It’s the sort of movement you’d get if someone was crying, but he’s definitely not crying, and Albus is-

He sits up and looks at Albus, and for several seconds he sits frozen, staring, because Albus is definitely awake and definitely crying, both of which are completely improbable.

This now awake Albus looks considerably more Albus-y than the unconscious one of before. He’s not nearly as pale, his face is already red from crying. He’s not as relaxed either, his whole body has gone taut, screwed up tight in a way that is sadly normal for him. Even his hair is a lot more messy now that he’s moved his head. He looks so much more solid, so much more real, and he looks like he’s in pain.

Some part of Scorpius’s brain that hadn’t quite been working before suddenly snaps into comprehension. Albus is crying. Albus is in pain. He needs help, right now, or he might not be alive much longer, and Scorpius is the only one around to do anything.

“Help!” He shouts in the direction of the door. “We need help. Right now. Someone, please!”

There are running footsteps in the corridor outside and the door bursts open. James appears in the doorway holding two cups, but the second he spots Albus they drop out of his hands and hit the ground, the lids popping off so coffee and tea splash everywhere, including all over his shoes. He doesn’t seem to notice. He turns tail and runs, and Scorpius can hear him calling for help down the corridor towards the Healers’ station.

Safe in the knowledge that James will get someone to help even if he has to physically drag them down the corridor, Scorpius devotes all his attention to comforting Albus.

It takes what feels like forever to get him settled and stable. To Scorpius’s relief, when they finally manage it, Albus looks a lot more like he’s just sleeping than he did before. He’s not well, but he’s tangibly alive. His skin is warm to touch, Scorpius can see the rise and fall of the blankets as he breathes, and his heartbeat is stronger. It doesn’t feel strange to touch him anymore, so Scorpius sits next to him and strokes his hair until Harry and Ginny arrive, then he lets them take over while he goes and curls up in a corner of the room beside his dad, who’s also come in the last hour, and for the first time in two weeks he slips into a proper, deep, dreamless sleep.

“I hope you know that you made me spill good coffee when you woke up.”

James’s voice drifts into Scorpius’s consciousness, rousing him from his sleep. Scorpius shifts in his seat and tries to resettle. He’s still too tired to open his eyes and find out who James is talking to.

“Why would you... waste coffee... like that? Honestly, James. If you... didn’t want it... you could have left it for me...”

It takes Scorpius a second to place the second, much softer, laboured voice, but when his brain finally connects the dots it’s like someone has just injected some of James’s lost coffee straight into his veins because he’s awake and buzzing in an instant. He opens his eyes and goes flying across the room, heart pounding, desperate relief and excitement coursing through him.

“Albus,” he gasps when he reaches the bed. “You’re awake!”

“Well there goes my chance for a nice quiet chat alone with my brother,” James snarks from the other side of the bed, but Scorpius can tell from his smile that he’s not bothered.

Albus, gloriously, smiles too. It’s small and shaky, and he looks absolutely exhausted when he does it, but it’s something, and Scorpius has to resist both the urge to kiss him and burst into tears.

“Shut up, James,” Albus murmurs, then he turns his head towards Scorpius and his smile fades into something small and serious and tightly controlled, like he doesn’t know what will happen if he gives his emotions free rein. “Hi,” he whispers.

Scorpius kneels on the floor beside him and reaches out to brush his fingers gently against Albus’s cheek. “Hello. I... I missed you.”

Albus closes his eyes and gives the smallest nod, barely a twitch of his head. “Yeah...”

Scorpius leans across and presses a kiss into his hair, then he keeps lightly stroking his knuckles down Albus’s cheek and over his jaw as they all sit there in total silence, and Albus seems to drift back to sleep.

Just when Scorpius is thinking that that was the end of the conversation, he looks up to find a pair of piercing emerald eyes fixed on him.

“I thought you were asleep,” he says softly. “You should be resting.”

“I thought I was dead,” Albus whispers. “I... I was sure that I...” He swallows and takes a couple of carefully shallow breaths. “But I’m not.”

“No.” Scorpius trails his fingers off Albus’s face and looks down, spotting where Albus’s fingers are peeping out from beneath the blankets, and he takes hold of Albus’s hand.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” Albus says, fingers pressing against Scorpius’s like he’s tried really hard to squeeze Scorpius’s hand but doesn’t quite have the strength yet. “Not again.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Scorpius says, squeezing back to show he got the message. “I like having you here. And we’ve got so much to do. _You’ve_ got so much to do.”

“Why am I not dead?” Albus asks. “And why do I feel so...” He gives a very small shake of his head, and his fingers relax in Scorpius’s grip. “Being alive hurts now.”

“Are you in a lot of pain?” James asks sharply, sitting up and focusing on the conversation again.

Albus doesn’t look at either of them. “Enough.”

James gets to his feet. “I’ll go and tell someone. They’re talking to Mum and Dad in the office down the hall, maybe I can-“

“That’s where they are,” Albus murmurs, and it sounds enough like relief and understanding that James stops again.

“They’re here,” he says. “They’ve been here all night. The Healers wanted to talk to them so they went out, but I can get them back if you want.” He hovers, halfway between action and inaction, waiting.

“I want to see them,” Albus says softly, but his eyes flicker closed at the same time and it’s several seconds before he goes on. “I’m tired.”

“You sleep,” James tells him, and it’s not an order that Scorpius would have disobeyed if it had been directed at him. “They’ll be here when you wake up next. You’ve got forever to see them.” He reaches down and pats Albus’s foot over the blankets. “I’ll go and tell someone that you’re hurting. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He leaves the room, so it’s just Scorpius, Albus, and Draco who’s fast asleep and oblivious to everything else going on over in the corner by the window.

“Neither of you answered... my question,” Albus whispers after a bit.

Scorpius considers asking which question to buy himself some time, but he already knows, so instead he holds Albus’s hand and strokes the back of it with his thumb.

“She... she was very weak,” he says. “Which helped you. But the main thing, the only thing they can think of to explain it, is that... that maybe she just didn’t mean it. With an Unforgiveable you have to- She didn’t really want to kill you. So she didn’t.”

Albus stares straight up at the ceiling and doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” Scorpius says eventually, not really sure what he’s sorry for. Albus doesn’t say anything, and within a minute his breathing has evened out and his eyes have closed and he seems to be asleep again. At that point Scorpius retreats back across the room and curls up against his dad’s side. Draco must be at least a little bit awake, because he opens one eye and lifts his arm to wrap around Scorpius’s shoulders so he can hug him close.

“Can I have a word with you both?” Harry asks, later that morning. He still looks as pale and shell-shocked as he did when they first got here weeks ago, and now he’s running his hands nervously through his hair on top of all that. He looks a mess. In fact Scorpius knows, thanks to an overheard conversation one night when he couldn’t sleep, that it runs deeper than his physical appearance. Harry’s wounds from the battle, although gone on the surface, are still troubling him. He’s getting near constant headaches that won’t go away unless he rests, which he seems to be incapable of. Scorpius suspects that telling Albus about them will be the solution, because the only people Harry listens to are him and Ginny, but Harry seems to have decided that Albus is still too sick to be troubled with such information.

“If this is some sort of talk about how Scorpius needs to keep his distance from Albus for the good of Albus’s health then you can give up now, Potter,” Draco says, getting to his feet and smoothing his robes down. At his full, magnificent height he makes Harry’s current crumpled, deflated appearance look even more pathetic.

“Nothing like that,” Harry says, and Scorpius spots how serious and sad his expression is. “I thought I’d give you an update on how Albus is.”

“Is it bad?” Scorpius asks, hardly daring to voice the question.

“I was thinking we should all go and get a drink,” Harry suggests. “Then we can talk.”

“Alright.” Scorpius uncurls himself from the chair and holds onto his dad’s shoulder while he stretches his stiff legs. As he does he runs through the two possibilities. The first, most likely option, is that it’s very bad, which is why they’re going to discuss it elsewhere. The second, almost as likely option, is that there’s so much wrong that they’ll need the time having a drink gives them to go through it all. Neither option is good.

As they walk down the corridor Scorpius sticks just behind Harry, watching him and trying to work out what he’s thinking. He also starts running through everything that might be wrong with Albus. Although he doesn’t know much about magical illnesses, he’s done a lot of reading in the last couple of weeks, and he knows of enough conditions now that his list of possibilities is lengthy and excruciating.

_But all survivable_ , he reassures himself. With modern spells and potions and the right care there aren’t many things that aren’t survivable. And if Albus has got to this point then the outcome must be positive at least. No one seems to be worried that he’s about to imminently drop dead anymore, which is something...

“Coffee?” Harry asks when they reach the canteen.

Draco pulls a face. “I think I’ll be alright.”

“Tea, please,” Scorpius says brightly.

“I’ll just be a second.” Harry goes up to get the drinks, and it’s a nice distraction to watch him sign a couple of napkins for the star-struck boy behind the counter.

“Famous Potter,” Draco murmurs to Scorpius. “Can’t even get a cup of coffee without being asked for an autograph.”

“At least they don’t want a photo,” Scorpius replies, looking at the state of Harry’s hair and how exhausted he looks.

“They have some sense then,” Draco says. “Shall we get a table while he catches up with his fans?”

They take the table by the window and Scorpius fiddles with the sugar packets until Harry comes over with the drinks.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

“Oh, don’t apologise,” Draco replies. “Got to keep the fans happy. They say it’s good to maintain a sense of normalcy during troubled times. It’s healthy.”

Harry sighs and sinks into the seat opposite him. “Most of the hospital must have my signature by now.”

“Well don’t sign too many more,” Draco advises. “You’ll ruin your market. Are you really going to drink that?” He leans across to inspects Harry’s coffee. “That’s probably their finest work too...”

“It’s caffeinated,” Harry says. “I don’t care how it tastes.” He slides Scorpius’s tea across the table along with an almost equally full cup of milk. “Albus told me you like it really milky.”

Scorpius nods and gives a happy little wiggle in his seat. “Perfect. That’ll be enough.” He starts decanting the milk into his tea until the cup is almost overflowing, then he very carefully stirs in three packets of sugar.

The waves of disapproval from his dad make him decide to add another packet just to spite him, and he happily licks the stirrer clean once he’s done with it, shooting his dad a bright smile. This is the best he’s felt in weeks, light and buoyant. It’ll probably only last until Harry starts talking, but it’s nice. It’s even nicer when his dad rolls his eyes and smiles back with a despairing shake of his head.

Harry cracks a smile too, and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Albus is awake,” he says, when he sets the cup back down on the table.

Scorpius’s smile widens into a grin. “He is.”

“Which is good,” Harry goes on, with a relieved exhalation. “And it means we can consider the future.” He takes another sip of his coffee, and his smile wilts a little at the edges. “We talked to the Healers this morning and they’ve confirmed again that the Killing Curse that hit Albus didn’t have full intent behind it, which, as already we knew, is an almost unique condition-“

“The Potter boys who lived,” Draco says, but Harry shakes his head.

“It’s actually quite a different situation. The one that hit me had the full intent behind it, and I remain the only person to survive that... No, there’s a small handful of people around the world who have survived a Killing Curse like the one Albus suffered, and the good news is that most of them lead healthy, fulfilling lives.”

“What’s the bad news?” Scorpius asks.

Harry trails a stirrer across the surface of his coffee. “It’s not the most robust existence. Albus is... he’s fragile now. The curse has left him in an unstable state where the smallest thing could kill him. It could be tripping down a couple of stairs or falling off a broom. It might be getting hit by a Bludger, or a stray Stunning Spell. The sort of thing that most of us would easily recover from. It could be the end of him. So going forward we need to be careful. We’ll need to look after him, and we’ll need to make sure he looks after himself.”

“Can he still fly?” Scorpius asks. “And we can’t protect him from everything. He’s _Albus_. He likes adrenaline, and danger.”

“He won’t be able to fly,” Harry says. “And adrenaline and danger are the worst possible things for him now. He should be fine as long as he stays safe and sensible.”

“That doesn’t sound like Albus.”

Harry’s shoulders slump. “I know that. That’s why I wanted to talk to you both. He loves you. He trusts you. I think he’ll listen to you. I’m almost certain he’ll be more likely to listen to one of you than he will me. So what we need to do is to work together, because I’m not expecting this to be easy. But we have to do it. He has to understand that if this doesn’t happen, then...”

“Then we might lose him again,” Scorpius murmurs.

“Exactly,” Harry says.

There’s a long few seconds of silence, in which Scorpius pokes miserably at his discarded teabag with the end of his stirrer.

“He won’t accept not being able to fly,” Draco says finally, breaking the silence.

Scorpius glances at him in surprise. Obviously it’s true, but he didn’t expect his dad to be the one to say it.

Harry runs a hand through his hair. “He’s going to have to. Flying is non-negotiable.” He shakes his head. “It’s high stress, high intensity, high adrenaline. And it’s dangerous because of the height and speed... it’s everything he needs to avoid.”

“I...” Scorpius pauses, looking down at his hands. “I agree with both of you. He shouldn’t be doing it, but he won’t stop. It’s important to him. It’s all he had for years. That and-“ He swallows instead of saying Delphi’s name. “I don’t know what we do to compromise – I don’t know if there’s a compromise he’d even accept – but we’re going to have to find something.” He looks up at Harry. “He chose to come back to us. We have to make it worth it. It’s _going_ to be worth it. He’s going to have flying in his life somehow, some way, if he wants it. I can’t accept a flat-out no, because he certainly won’t.”

There’s another stretch of silence when he stops talking, in which his dad watches him thoughtfully and Harry studies his coffee like he’s hoping it’ll give him an answer to the problem.

“I think we should talk to him,” Scorpius says finally. “We should at least find out what he wants. Maybe he doesn’t want to fly anymore. He was going to walk away from the league after all.”

“If we talk to him without a plan, it’ll turn into an argument,” Harry says. “I don’t want to fight with him anymore.”

“Not everything has to be a fight,” Draco says. “Make it a conversation.”

Harry’s shoulders slump. “Conversation has never been mine and Albus’s strong point.”

“Which is why you asked us to help,” Scorpius points out. “We can talk to him, or Ginny, or James. Even Lily, once he’s well enough to get to a Floo. It doesn’t have to be you and it doesn’t have to be a confrontation. We can work together on this.”

Harry considers for a moment before nodding. “Alright. A conversation. We’ll try it.”

“Honesty is a good start,” Draco suggests. “Don’t try and hide the truth from him. Tell him everything and let him make his own decisions. He is an adult, after all.”

“He is,” Harry agrees. “He’s grown up a lot in seven years. Changed a lot.”

“I think we all have,” Scorpius says softly.

Draco nods, and Harry bows his head. There’s a beat of quiet during which the coffee machine whirs away behind them and other conversations buzz on. Then Harry adjusts his glasses.

“There’s something else I need to talk to you about too, before we go back.”

They both look at him expectantly, and he downs his coffee and sets the mug on the table before he looks between them both.

“We... need to bury Delphi’s body.”

“I think the plan is to go and do it tomorrow,” Scorpius says. He’s sitting cross-legged on Albus’s bed, down by Albus’s feet. For the first time since he woke up, Albus is propped up against his pillows, not quite sitting but it’s a good start.

He’s messing with his blankets and clearly listening to Scorpius, but he hasn’t said anything yet. His expression is unreadable: a tiny little frown that could mean nothing or it could mean everything.

“I think our dads are going to do it,” Scorpius goes on. “Harry didn’t want to do it on his own so he asked my dad to go with him.”

“And I’m stuck here,” Albus murmurs, not looking up from his blankets. “So I can’t go with them...”

Scorpius wraps his fingers round his ankles and studies Albus. “Would you have wanted to go?”

Albus lifts his gaze and gives a tiny nod. “I...” He hesitates. “I think it would have helped.”

“It would have been closure,” Scorpius interprets.

Albus shrugs, just a little twitch of his shoulders. “It’s my fault that she’s... the least I can do is go and say goodbye. She was my best friend. Even if it was a lie, it still _felt_ true. And in the end she couldn’t...” He swallows and hangs his head, his hair falling around his face, hiding it from view. “I should have been able to save her. If she cared enough about me not to kill me. I should have been enough, but I wasn’t.”

Scorpius lays a hand over the lump in the blanket where Albus’s foot is. “It _wasn’t_ your fault, Albus. I promise. You were far better to her than she ever was to you. You gave her every chance, for years _and_ at the end. Telling someone you don’t hate them isn’t an act of violence. The fact that she got to the point where that killed her was her fault, not yours. You have to understand that.”

Albus looks at him. “Would you go with them?”

“What do you mean?”

Albus draws in a careful breath, that must not quite be careful enough because he lifts his hand to his chest and screws his face up in pain. Scorpius is about to start panicking, or at least considering calling for help, when Albus steadies himself enough to talk.

“I mean... would you go with our dads to bury Delphi?”

Scorpius picks at a hole in the toe of his sock. He’d been glad he hadn’t been asked to go. He doesn’t want to see her again. He certainly doesn’t want to say goodbye or anything. He doesn’t want to be responsible for giving her a formal burial that he doesn’t really think she deserves. He’s still got the scars on his chest from where she slashed him open. There are times when his whole body tightens up and he finds it difficult to move, a residual effect from the Cruciatus Curses that she used on him. And whether she meant to kill Albus or not, the fact that she nearly succeeded is constantly at the forefront of his mind right now. The last thing on earth that he wants to do is go and help bury her.

“You can say no,” Albus says softly. “I understand. The things she did to you were terrible, and I know that she doesn’t really deserve to-“

“I’ll go,” Scorpius says, looking up from the hole in his sock and gathering all his courage together. “It’s important to you.”

“But if it’s going to be difficult for you-“

Scorpius pushes a brave smile onto his face. “I’ll have my dad and your dad there to help. I’ll be okay.”

“You really don’t have to-“

“Albus.” Albus stops talking and Scorpius shifts onto his knees and crawls up the bed, carefully avoiding putting his weight on any of Albus’s limbs. “I want to. For you.”

Albus meets his eyes. “Are you completely sure it’s okay?”

Scorpius looks right back at him. “Completely.” Then he leans down and brushes a kiss to Albus’s lips.

And that’s how he comes to be standing in a graveyard on a warm Thursday afternoon with his dad and Harry, looking down at the plain black coffin lying at the bottom of the freshly dug grave in front of them.

The sun is streaming through the big oak tree behind them, dappling the ground. This feels like too nice a place for her to be buried, and Scorpius briefly wonders where the bodies from the war are buried – the Death Eaters, not the Fallen Fifty. But then he thinks about Albus coming here to what’s about to become an unmarked piece of turfed ground under a big oak tree, and saying his goodbyes. Graves are more for the living than the dead anyway, and it seems cruel to punish Albus even more for caring about her. He doesn’t deserve to have to go to some desolate field and be surrounded by the names of all those horrible people when he visits her, even if it would be more appropriate.

“Let’s get this over with,” Draco says, drawing his wand.

“Wait.” Scorpius reaches out and catches his wrist. “I... I think we should say something. Albus would want us to say something...” He trails off looking at the other two, who both have their wands drawn and are ready to finish this so they can go home and forget about it. Scorpius wants to forget about it too, but he knows that Albus wouldn’t be able to even if he wanted to.

“Go on then,” Harry says after a second, tucking his wand away and nodding at Scorpius.

Scorpius takes a step back. “What? Me? No, I-I don’t know what to-“ He swallows. He’s here representing Albus. If anyone’s going to talk it has to be him. “Okay. Okay I’ll- I’ll try.”

His dad pockets his wand too, and they both stand there with their hands clasped, Harry watching Scorpius, Draco looking down at the coffin. A gentle breeze stirs the tree overhead, and a single dry leaf blows down onto the black wood at the bottom of the hole. Scorpius takes a breath.

“The things you did were terrible,” he says, addressing Delphi like she can hear him – it’s the way he always talks to his mum too, when he visits her grave. “They were unforgivable. You hurt all of us, you hurt Albus most of all, and you enjoyed every second of it. I know that your parents were who they were, and that probably had everything to do with it. Maybe in a different life you would have been a better person, a normal person, who could believe in love and friendship. But you didn’t have a different life, you had this one, and you had plenty of chances – you had someone who cared about you, a lot; more than you ever understood. And maybe it did have some sort of impact on you. You couldn’t kill him after all. But that last second of your life isn’t enough to redefine you. Not for me.

“I don’t think you deserve our time or our words, and you certainly don’t deserve Albus’s tears. But you’re going to get them because he does care about you, and I hope that wherever you are now you understand that, and I hope that maybe you couldn’t kill him because the most deep, inner part of you, the part that didn’t mean that spell, is the truest part of you. I hope that part knew in some way how he felt about you, and felt the same in return. I don’t believe it, but I hope it. For Albus’s sake.”

He bends down and picks up a handful of the freshly dug earth at the foot of the grave, which he tosses on top of the coffin. “Goodbye, Delphi. And good riddance.”

“Good riddance,” Harry echoes, drawing his wand and starting to shovel the earth into the grave.

“Good riddance,” Draco repeats as he does the same.

Scorpius brushes the earth off his hands and leaves them to it. He walks away across the graveyard, which is set in a sort of walled off paddock beside the crumbling ruin of a church. It’s the most beautiful day, and the countryside surrounding the graveyard is glowing with late summer sunshine. The crops are growing ripe, golden wheat and bright yellow rape spread off into the distance as far as the eye can see.

He climbs the stile over the stone wall that’s thick with lichen and sinks down into the grass verge that borders the footpath through the fields. Tiny little wildflowers stud the long grasses like a galaxy of brightly coloured flowers. He desperately wishes that Albus could be here, that he wasn’t alone right now, but no. It’s just him and the sunshine and the breeze.

He’s still sitting there, back against the wall, twisting a blade of grass between his fingers, when it finally hits him. Delphi is gone forever. She can’t hurt them anymore. The memories can’t do any more damage than they already have. They can both survive this, and everything is going to be okay now. They’re free.

He sits among the grass and the wildflowers, while somewhere in the distance Harry and Draco bury Delphi in the ground, and he buries his face in his knees and cries until it’s time to go home.

“Since we’re wizards, can’t we just find a way to make walking completely unnecessary?” Albus asks. “Surely the Department of Mysteries can research that.“ It’s a couple of weeks since he first woke up, and he’s discovering for the first time that walking is painful, exhausting, and generally difficult. He’d really rather not be doing it. Which is why his mum has bribed him with coffee if he can make it to the end of the corridor and back – he’s easily won.

Ginny laughs and adjusts her grip on his arm. “I’m sure if you really never wanted to walk again you could figure it out very quickly. Especially between you and Scorpius. But I’m not sure I’d advise it. You wouldn’t get your coffee for a start.”

Albus sighs and glances back down the corridor. They’re not even halfway there yet and his legs are aching. He wants to lie down right here on the floor and sleep for a week. He should be doing better than this. He’s supposed to be an athlete. Except of course he’s not anymore. Now he’s just a _former_ athlete. He stops dead on the spot, staring down at his feet.

“Are you okay?” His mum asks, giving his arm a squeeze.

There are a couple of chairs leaning against the wall a few steps further down the corridor. Maybe ten. Ten is a lot, but it’s significantly closer to his goal.

“Can we have a rest?” He asks.

“I think that would be alright,” his mum says gently.

The last ten steps take a painful minute and a half, and when he gets to the chair he collapses into it, legs trembling, face buried in his hands as he tries to catch his breath. His mum sits down beside him and he curls up against her side while she strokes his hair.

“You’re doing really well,” she murmurs. “I’m proud of you.”

He interleaves his fingers in his lap and closes his eyes. “Mum...”

She brushes a couple of tufts of his hair into place. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“How long has dad been trying to tell me that I can’t fly anymore?” He opens his eyes and looks up at her.

She looks down at him for a moment, then she shifts in her seat so she can look at him properly, no longer holding him against her side but still keeping a hand on his shoulder. “The Healers talked to us about it on the day after you woke up. He wanted to tell you himself, but he was nervous about how you’d react, so he kept putting it off.”

“He thought I’d shout at him.”

“He expected that you wouldn’t take it very well. It’s a big thing to be told. But it was okay, wasn’t it?” She looks at him, and he shrugs.

“I didn’t really feel up to arguing... or saying anything. I don’t...” He swallows. “I don’t feel up to much at all at the moment. Like the walking and everything... I just want to sleep, and-“ He suddenly feels very tearful. He’s coming apart at the seams. Parts of him have been torn into irreparable pieces, and he’s never going to be the same again. He’s never going to have his life back. He’s never going to fly again. Delphi may not have killed him but what she did is almost worse because now he’s here, in his own mind and body, but nothing is ever going to be the same.

“I hate this,” he says in a choked whisper, and as he squeezes his eyes tight shut a couple of tears dribble down his cheeks, and he curls back up against his mum’s side and tries to hide his face from her.

She gathers him into her arms and goes back to stroking his hair. “Sweetheart,” she murmurs. “I know. It’s so hard, but you’re doing so well.“

“I don’t think I am,” he sobs. “I think I’m broken. I can’t walk. I’ll never be able to fly. I’m supposed to be- I just want to fly. I-I don’t know what I’m meant to be if I can’t. I don’t know who I am.”

“No,” she says fiercely. “You’re not broken. You’re completely normal. You’re human, and you’re hurting. A bit of your identity’s been taken away, hasn’t it? But we’re still here and we still love you, and we’re going to help you find out what comes next whenever you’re ready to do that. Okay?” She squeezes him tight and kisses the top of his head. “I promise you’re not broken.”

“There’s never been anything else,” he whispers, and it’s true. This is what he was afraid of before, when he was thinking about walking away from the league. It made his life feel like a big, empty space, and he had no idea what to do to fill it. He was always so rubbish at school, but he felt at home in the air and he was so good at flying. It felt right. And now he’s faced with an eternity of empty space and still no options for filling it.

“I told your dad that we’d all need to find a compromise,” his mum says. “We all talked about this. I don’t think any of us thought that just walking away from flying forever would be something that you would be willing to do.” She wipes a tear off his cheek and kisses the top of his head again. “I think it’s something for you to think about. Where can we meet in the middle here? I know that we can make suggestions, but maybe you can propose something that you’d be happy with.”

Albus sniffs. “Something that’s not flying but is also not not flying?”

She smiles. “Exactly. Something exactly like that.”

Albus wipes his face on his sleeve. “It’ll give me something to think about while I’m lying in bed, I suppose. Or while I’m practicing walking.” He draws in a shuddering breath and tries to scrub his face dry with his sleeve. “Sorry for crying all over you.”

“I’m your mum,” she says. “I’m here to be cried on. I’m just sorry that you’re unhappy.”

“It’s just difficult,” he murmurs. “To accept that everything’s different now. But I don’t really have a choice. If I want to be alive, which I definitely do, then... this is it. No more flying, and lots of awful walking practice. Speaking of which.” He lifts his head and looks down the corridor. “If I want coffee before the middle of the night we should probably get going.”

He hauls himself up out of the chair and his mum hovers beside him.

“We can rest for longer if you want. It’s okay.”

He shakes his head. “I’m never not going to be exhausted. We might as well get this over with.”

“They’re talking about me going home,” Albus says one morning a couple of weeks later. He and Scorpius are sitting on top of his blankets playing a game of Muggle Snap – they discovered to their peril that Exploding Snap and blankets don’t really mix well; Albus had to have all his bedding changed once the first lot were extinguished, and James’s favourite t-shirt will never be the same again.

“So I heard,” Scorpius says, dropping a card onto the pile between them. “Are you excited?”

“Excited to get out of here,” Albus says, adding a card of his own to the pile. “But...”

Scorpius glances up from his cards. “But?”

Albus shrugs. “I don’t know. I am excited. It’ll be nice to sleep in my own bed again.”

Scorpius scrutinises him briefly, then deals his next card onto the pile. “I’ll be happy to leave so I don’t have to eat the hospital food anymore. I miss my dad’s cooking.” He sighs happily at the thought. “And no more fish _ever_. I’m going to get Dad to cook us a feast, which you’d obviously be invited to, but I can’t guarantee I won’t have eaten everything by the time you arrive.”

Albus smiles, and it’s the small, restrained smile that means there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

“Go on,” Scorpius says. “And you haven’t played your next card yet.”

Albus puts his next card down and Scorpius puts his on top immediately. He expects it to be a match. It’s not. The stack of cards between them is getting messier and bigger by the second. One of them has to win at some point or they’ll run out of cards.

“Is your dad’s cooking a deal breaker?” Albus asks, messing with the corner of one of the three cards he’s still holding.

Scorpius frowns at him. “What do you mean?”

He puffs his cheeks out and shrugs. “I don’t know... I mean, would you still be excited for us all to leave if you knew your dad wouldn’t be able to cook for you all the time?”

Scorpius’s frown deepens into confusion. “Is there something he hasn’t told me? Is he going on strike?”

Albus releases all the air held in his cheeks and his shoulders slump. “No, I- No. What I’m trying to say is...” He runs a hand through his hair, then he looks at Scorpius. “When I get out of here... how would you feel about maybe moving in with me?” He drops his gaze back to the cards, drops his next one onto the pile and clamps his hand down on top of all the cards. “Snap.”

Scorpius doesn’t move an inch. He’s still staring at Albus, trying to comprehend the question that Albus just asked him. It’s not as if they haven’t talked about it before, but that was different. That was before, it felt like a promise for the future. This feels serious and real.

Albus swallows and scoops all of the cards towards him, pushing a shaky smile onto his face. “I-I suppose I won that round.”

“Ask me that question again,” Scorpius says.

Albus bows his head and starts shuffling the cards. “It was stupid. Forget I asked.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “I don’t think I can just forget that you asked me to move in with you again, with a deadline, and... That’s pretty big, Albus.”

Albus keeps shuffling the cards, his hair hanging around his face. He’s blushed red now, all the way to his ears – his blush is the most Weasley thing about him, and Scorpius loves it.

Scorpius sighs. “Alright. So I’m just going to assume that you hadn’t really planned to ask that, but since you did ask, you must have been thinking about it for a while. I know you, Albus.” He reaches across and gently takes the cards from Albus’s hands. Albus’s fingers are trembling, and Scorpius takes hold of them and gives them a light squeeze. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Albus draws in a shaky breath and stares at their interlinked hands. “I’m scared... of going home. I don’t really want to be on my own. I keep thinking about how big it is, and how far it is from anywhere, and about all the stairs, and how lonely it’ll be. I never spent much time there before but now I have nowhere else to go, so...” He resettles himself on the bed and lets go of one of Scorpius’s hands so he can fiddle with the pile of cards. “I know I could just move in with my parents for a couple of months and then it would be fine, but... The idea of moving in with them is worse. I know it would probably be okay now, but I can’t remember a time when I was happy there. I think I’d get sick of them, and we’d fight, and I don’t want to do that. I want be in my own house, in my own bed, I just don’t want to be there alone.”

He lets go of Scorpius’s other hand too, so he can pick up the cards and shuffle them. He drops them all a couple of times because his hands are still unsteady and his reactions are still slow, and his face screws up with frustration but he doesn’t swear or anything. He just keeps talking.

“I know we talked about it, before all this happened. And I know it wasn’t that serious – I mean it was maybe a bit serious – but it was more that I liked the nights we spent together so much. It’s nice to wake up next to you. I like having you around. It was too soon last time I asked and I know it’s too soon now, but I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s the perfect solution to my problems, which doesn’t mean that it’s the right thing to do for you, but I thought I should say it anyway. So I suppose it’s an impulsive question...”

“But it’s not that impulsive because you’ve been thinking about it for weeks,” Scorpius says.

Albus nods. “Right.” He shuffles the cards one more time, then starts dealing them out for another game. Scorpius plays along, happy to have something to do with his hands while he talks.

“I’ve been thinking for years about where I’d go if I wasn’t living with Dad,” he says. “I like being at home, and it’s been safe. I never really thought that I’d find somewhere that would take me. They probably would now I suppose... but I do think I understand about it being scary to live alone. You’ve seen what happens with those pains I sometimes get now. And it would be lonely. It’s nice to have someone to come home to. It would be nice to come home to you.”

A pink tinge spreads across Albus’s cheeks and he starts playing his cards faster. They trade cards in silence for a few seconds before Scorpius speaks again.

“I’ll talk to my dad about it. He’s the person I’d be leaving behind. I don’t want to just abandon him. But I can’t deny that the idea of waking up next to you every day is an appealing one...”

Albus smiles. “It would make getting up in the morning to go to your shiny new job a lot harder.”

“That would depend which I’d find more interesting,” Scorpius says. “You in my bed, or the Department of Mysteries.”

Albus shakes his head. “I don’t think I can compete there.”

Scorpius gives a small shrug and a smile. “Maybe we’ll have to find out when they let you go home.” He drops a card onto the pile and slams his hand down on top of it. “Snap.”

The next day is one of the rare evenings when neither Scorpius nor Draco is at the hospital. The Potters are all there, and Ginny insisted that Scorpius should spend the night at home, sleep in a proper bed, and come back well-rested the next day. Albus had been asleep, so with no one around to defend him, Scorpius had agreed to head home, at least for a bit.

It’s turned out to be a great decision. His dad has a delicious-looking casserole in the oven, and the smells are wafting through the whole house. They’re killing the time while they wait for it to be ready by making cupcakes that they might take to the hospital in the morning, if they haven’t eaten them all before then.

Scorpius leans against the counter and watches his dad pour cake batter into cupcake cases while he licks a batter-covered spoon.

“Albus asked me to move in with him,” he says. He’s been planning to say it all evening, worrying about when and how he would drop it into the conversation. Why it’s come out now, he’s not sure. It just feels like a good moment.

His dad doesn’t even glance up from what he’s doing. “Finally. Frankly, I’m stunned it took this long. Have you decided when you’re doing it?”

Scorpius frowns at his dad. “I’m not.”

That makes Draco stop and look up. “You’re... not?” He shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

Scorpius sighs and dumps the spoon in the sink. “I’m not _not_ moving in with him. I just hadn’t said yes yet. I wanted to talk to you about it first.”

“I don’t know why. I have no objections. Did you think I’d have a problem with it?”

Scorpius leans his back against the counter and crosses one arm across his chest. “No. I didn’t. But I still... Thought I should check.” He glances at his dad. “I didn’t want to just abandon you without asking. I didn’t want you to think that I didn’t want to be here.”

“Oh,” his dad says softly. He pauses, looking at Scorpius, then he gestures to the cakes. “I’m going to get these in the oven then we’ll talk.”

“Okay,” Scorpius says in a very small voice.

He stands and watches while his dad finishes filling the cupcake cases, nerves buzzing away inside him. He fiddles with the hem of his shirt, and when his dad hands him the empty bowl and spatula to lick clean, he’s more than happy to accept, even though the batter makes him feel a little bit queasy and he quickly puts everything in the sink and starts washing up. His dad puts the cakes in the oven, checks the casserole, then comes and leans next to him.

“I’ve always known that you were going to leave eventually,” Draco says. “It’s one of the unfortunate hazards of parenting. You spend years raising a child, who you love, and after investing all that time and energy you have to watch them grow up, move out, and start their own life. It’s both the most rewarding and hardest thing in the world.” He pauses for a second, then he draws his wand and starts drying up the things that Scorpius has washed.

“I’m actually quite pleased that you’re going to leave, and not because I don’t like having you around – I do, I promise I do. But if you’re leaving now it’s because the world has finally woken up to the fact that you deserve everything. This should have happened a long time ago, but it’s better late than never, and now you’ve got your dream job, a man who loves you, and you’re going to go and start your new life. It’s everything you deserve, and I’m happy for you. And yes, I’ll miss you, but that doesn’t for a second mean that you shouldn’t go. Okay?”

Scorpius puts the last wooden spoon on the side and stares down at the iridescent soap bubbles shining in the basin. He feels a little bit like he’s going to cry, and he doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods.

“You do want to move in with him, don’t you?” His dad asks, a hint of concern in his voice. “Because if you don’t want to, then-“

“I do,” Scorpius says, and his voice cracks. “I really do. I-“ A tear dribbles down his cheek and he wipes it away on his sleeve. “I don’t know why I’m crying. This is stupid. I-I’m going to miss you.” His shoulders shake with sobs and he buries his face in his hands.

His dad tuts and dries his hands before drawing him into a tight hug. “Don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily. You can take the boy out of the Manor but you can’t take the Manor out of the boy. And I’ll be around. I’ll have to come and check that you’re looking after each other and not getting up to too much trouble. And if I bring cake you won’t have any choice but to let me in, will you?” He brushes his fingers through Scorpius’s hair, and Scorpius lifts his chin to look at him.

“Can we come round for dinner still?”

Draco nods. “Every day if you want. You can stay whenever you like. Both of you can. There’ll always be a home for you both here, together or apart. Unless of course he breaks your heart, in which case he can go to his own parents’ house and I’ll be able to start duelling Harry again.”

Scorpius gives a squelchy little laugh and wipes his nose on his sleeve. “You don’t have to stop duelling Harry on our account. I think Albus finds it entertaining.”

Draco summons a handkerchief from thin air and hands it to Scorpius. “I’m glad to be a source of amusement to you both.”

Scorpius blows his nose and mops himself up. “Sorry for crying on you.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” his dad says briskly. “It could be a lot worse. I still remember when you used to throw up on me.”

Scorpius pulls a face. “That’s gross.”

“You’re telling me.” Draco tucks his wand back into his pocket. “Now, shall we have some dinner? Then I think we should both have an early night. It’s been an exhausting time, and it’s not about to get any easier with you moving and starting a new job, and Albus coming out of hospital.”

“We can’t go to bed that early. We have to have a midnight feast in the library so we can drink hot chocolate and eat those cakes,” Scorpius says, pulling a couple of plates out of the cupboard.

Draco groans. “Well can we at least have a pre-midnight feast nap? I’m too old for staying up that late.”

Scorpius sighs with mock reluctance. “I suppose so...”

In the end they have their cupcakes and hot chocolate at 8pm, and then Scorpius passes out on the sofa. His dad must have carried him to bed, because when he wakes he’s tucked up in his four poster, it’s the middle of the next day, and bright summer sunshine is streaming in through the window. At least this way, he reasons, he hasn’t had chance to eat too many of the cupcakes before he gets to the hospital...

The first day of Albus being home from hospital is mostly devoted to Scorpius moving in. They unpack suitcases and at least attempt to put stuff away where it should be, then they order pizza and Albus falls asleep on the sofa before he’s managed to eat any. The second day they spend curled up in bed, warm in a patch of late summer sunshine streaming in through the curtains that neither of them has the energy or inclination to close. On the third day, Scorpius goes out to get groceries and Harry comes round to visit Albus.

Albus is sitting on the windowsill in the bedroom, gazing out over the city when Harry arrives. Harry knocks and hovers in the doorway until Albus gestures for him to come in and join him.

“This is a nice view,” Harry says, sitting on the ledge next to Albus and peering outside.

Albus nods. “I got this place because I worked out that if I flew in a straight line from this window, all the way across the hills, I’d get to Ottery St Catchpole in about half an hour.” He glances at his dad. “I only did it a couple of times, but... it was always nice to know that I knew where home was.”

Harry blinks a couple of times and frowns out of the window. “I didn’t know that.”

“I was thinking about you,” Albus says. “Almost every day for a long time. I’d write Mum letters that I never dared send. I’d dream about getting on my broom and flying home. I missed you. All of you.”

“But you don’t have to miss us anymore.” Harry looks at him. “You can come home whenever you like. Or not, if you don’t want to. And we can come here. When you want us, we’ll come.”

Albus nods and gives his dad a little smile. “I know. Thank you.”

“In fact, I was going to invite you both round for lunch on Sunday.” He flashes Albus an upbeat, hopeful grin and clasps his hands together. “What do you think?”

Albus laughs. “Draco already invited us to the Manor for lunch.”

Harry’s face falls, and it’s so extreme and comical that Albus laughs again.

“Don’t look so upset, Dad. I’m not rejecting you for Draco. No, we thought that maybe we should host everyone here. You and Mum and James and Draco. This place has a massive kitchen, and I’ve never really used it to cook for anyone else other than myself... I thought it would be nice to have a party.“

Harry looks considerably more happy. “That’s an excellent idea. Can I bring a dessert?”

Albus grins at him. “I’m sure Scorpius won’t object to that, and if he’s happy then I am too. Draco’s bringing wine, I think.”

Harry pulls a face. “Tell him not to be too pretentious about it.”

Albus laughs. “I’ll try. He might take some convincing...” He pauses, the smile fading from his face, and Harry looks at him with sharp scrutiny.

“You didn’t just invite me here to talk about Sunday lunch, did you?”

Albus shakes his head. “Not exactly.“ He gets to his feet, and Harry stands up too. For a moment Albus thinks his dad is going to try and steady him, but thankfully Harry keeps his hands screwed up in his pockets, and Albus is able to walk slowly across the room on his own.

“A while ago I was talking to Mum about the fact that I can’t fly anymore, and she told me I should find a compromise. Something I can do instead that isn’t flying but will make me happy. I’ve thought of one, and I want to run it by you.” He picks up a heavy book from his bedside table and turns back to his dad, holding it up. “This is it.”

Harry frowns. “A book?”

Albus nods and starts walking back towards him. “The Department of Magical Games and Sports Handbook of Regulations, Volume 13, Page 163, Section 79.” He hands the book to his dad and gives him a nod to open it.

Frowning, Harry does, and when he finds the page he freezes. “Albus, this is-“

“Yes it is. I want to keep the league open. That’s my compromise.”

Harry swallows. “That’s not a-“

“Hear me out.”

Harry hesitates for a second, then he nods. “Go on then.”

“Section 79.3 lists the reasons why our league was banned... it’s on the next page if you want to-“ Albus gestures to the book and waits until Harry has turned the page before he plunges on. “As you can see, it’s really just the Fiendfyre. That’s the principal problem. There are also the multiple instances of property damage and trespassing but those come against league management, not against the activity itself – Scorpius checked – so if we reformed under new management, then... then it would just be the fire.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair. “What about the financial irregularities? And the numerous health and safety infractions? You experienced those for yourself, Albus. The league is a mess, and not just because of what Delphi did.”

“The finances were all down to Delphi,” Albus says. “I know because Scorpius went through them with Draco. And she’s... well, she’s gone now, so that’s not a problem. And I fully intend to make the league a safe place to race. Trust me. I talked to the Healer who was fixing my shoulder while I was in hospital. She’s an expert in Fiendfyre burns, and she gave me some contacts who I’ve already been talking to. Did you know that hospital is really boring, Dad? I had to do something to liven it up.”

Harry shakes his head and stares down at the pages in front of him. “Okay. Let’s say all this is possible-“

“It is.”

“What do you do next?”

Albus takes a breath and nods. “Right. I talk to a couple of the other racers, people I trust, the sort of people who’d be good at running this sort of thing, and then we petition the Department of Magical Games and Sports to let us form a league. I suppose it’s less about saving what we had before and more about starting something new that isn’t going to get shut down. And then after that, once we get it approved, we run it...”

Harry sighs and closes the book. “Alright. So where do I come into all this?”

“We’ll need advice from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – that’s you – and cooperation while we’re petitioning to form a league. And I suppose endorsement for the league from Harry Potter wouldn’t go amiss.” Albus flashes his dad what’s meant to be a winning smile but it comes out weak and shaky. “I know what I’m doing, Dad. I’ve thought about this. Honestly, it’s the only thing I can imagine myself doing that isn’t flying...”

Harry sighs and scratches the bridge of his nose. “And if I don’t agree to help?”

Albus looks down at his feet. “I don’t have another compromise to suggest,” he says softly. “I don’t know what else I’m meant to do if I can’t fly. The league has been my life for years, and I thought I could walk away from it but if I can’t at least keep flying then I don’t think I can. This is it, Dad. This is my suggestion.”

Harry looks at him for a few seconds, then he glances down as he opens the book again. “What page did you say it is?”

Albus twists his hands together behind his back and crosses his fingers. “163.”

“Let’s go downstairs and get a coffee while we talk about this properly.”

Albus nods. “Okay. Scorpius will be back soon. He’s getting biscuits.”

Harry flips through the book. “I get the feeling we’re going to need them.”

Albus takes a shaky breath, trying to keep himself calm. He grins at his dad, a small spark of hope kindling inside him.

The day Scorpius goes back to work is one of the first times Albus ventures out on his own. He doesn’t have time to sit around panicking about it, and he’s glad about that. He’s not sure he would have made it out if he’d had the time to think.

Once Scorpius has gone, he finishes his breakfast, does the dishes, then goes out of the front of the house onto the quiet street and flags down the Knight Bus. It’s frustrating that so many of the normal ways of travelling are banned for him now – flying is out, Apparating could kill him instantly so that’s out too, even the Floo will take a while to work up to – but at least there’s this one, even if it does make him feel sick. He doesn’t really see how it’s any safer than flying, but he’s done arguing about that, so he climbs up the steps of the bus, hands over his Sickles, and sits in a seat at the back.

The bus isn’t too busy at 10am on a Monday morning, but they still have to make a few stops before they get to Cardiff. They weave down a congested road in London, squeezing between the cars like the bus is no bigger than a motorbike. After that they zoom along a coastal road, and Albus stares out at the sea, which gleams jewel bright under the low autumn sun. Next they’re driving haphazardly down a winding country road, making hedges and farmhouses and even the odd sheep jump out of their way as they roll past. Then, finally, Albus looks out of the window and recognises the quiet back street in Cardiff that’s just round the corner from the training ground.

He gets to his feet, thanks the driver, and hurries off the bus. It’s a relief to be back on solid ground, and for a couple of minutes he stands and leans against a brick wall with his eyes closed while he waits for the world to stop spinning. The day he gets the all clear to travel by Floo can’t come soon enough.

Once he’s got his land legs back, he sets off slowly down the street that skirts the edge of the training ground. Now he’s arrived, he feels an awful lot more anxious about being back. Last time he was here was that final day with Delphi, when she’d taken him into the office and made a last ditch attempt to get him on her side. Maybe if he’d done a better job of playing along things would have turned out differently. Maybe all the plans would have worked out. Maybe she’d be alive and in prison instead of dead, and he’d still be able to fly, and-

He stops and buries his face in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut while he tries to clear his head. No. He’s not going to think about that. Not today. Delphi doesn’t get to be part of his thinking ever again. If he’s going to be around the league for the foreseeable future then he’s going to have to learn to block her out. This is bigger than her, it’s his life, and he’s going to live it freely.

He smooths his fingers through his hair, controls his breathing, and sets off walking once more towards the front gate. Purpose, and the strength that he’s spent months building back up, get him there in a couple of minutes, and he stands outside, staring at the familiar shabby brickwork, peeling paint, and faded sign. Someone has sprayed graffiti over one of the walls by the entrance, the gate is padlocked at the moment, which makes it look like the place is derelict.

Of course it’s meant to look like that, but that doesn’t mean it’s nice. It’s even worse that Albus knows the place looks just as bad inside. The dereliction isn’t just for show. Now the league’s as good as gone, the Department of Magical Games and Sports having swept in during the aftermath of everything that happened in Godric’s Hollow to shut it down once and for all, this ground has been deserted. The racers have been scattered to the winds.

Albus knows of a couple who’ve gone to Europe, one or two who’ve moved onto the legal time trial circuit, and others who’ve just given up. It’s sad, and this place feels dead, like all the spirit’s been sucked out of it. But now they’re going to breathe life back into it. If there’s someone who understands that life is never hopeless then it’s Albus.

He draws his wand and taps it on the padlock, which rattles, and the chain comes free in his hand. He slings it over his shoulder and is about to push the gates open when he hears someone calling behind him.

“Hey! Sev!”

He turns round and smiles as he sees Gareth crossing the road behind him, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

“Hi!” He calls back.

“How are you?” Gareth asks, removing his hands from his pocket and clasping Albus’s hand then patting him on the back.

“Alive,” Albus grins. “You?”

Gareth nods at the gates. “Missing this place. How come you wanted to meet here?”

Albus swings the gate open. “I thought it would be appropriate. I’ve got a proposal for you.”

“I’m all ears,” Gareth says, swinging the other gate open and following Albus onto the grounds.

“Do you remember the day when Scorpius first came to try and shut us down?”

Gareth nods. “Vividly.”

“And I promised I wouldn’t let him?”

“It wasn’t a promise you could keep. But I think we all knew you only said that so we’d let you go and talk to him.”

Albus feels his cheeks heat up and tries to ignore that comment. “Well, actually it’s a promise that I _can_ keep. I’m going to get the league started again, and I was wondering if you would help me. I’ll need other people too – I was thinking about Jamal, he always seemed smart.”

Gareth nods. “He is. He was meant to go to one of those fancy Muggle universities. But Sev, starting the league up again is impossible. It’s illegal, for a start, and we don’t have the money. I know we’re wizards – pretty mediocre ones at that – but we can’t magic a league out of nothing.”

Albus pulls a sheath of paper out of his bag and hands it to Gareth. “I know. That’s why I’ve got plans. We can definitely do this. And I know that if you agree to help then everyone else will follow. Between me and you and Jamal I think we can make it happen.”

Gareth frowns down at the papers and starts flicking through them. “You’ve definitely been thinking about this, Sev.”

“I had a lot of time to think while I was in hospital. So what do you reckon?”

Gareth scrutinises the paper he’s on and shakes his head. “I reckon you’re mad. But I also reckon you might be onto something, and maybe we should call Jamal and work through these over a pint.”

Albus’s grin widens. “I’m up for that. I just have one request.”

Gareth glances up from his papers. “What’s that?”

“My name’s Albus,” Albus says. “Not Sev. Not anymore. Is that okay?”

Gareth shrugs and holds out a hand out to him. “It’s nice to meet you, Albus. Now, are you serious about having the first race in June? I know you’re the fastest racer around, but no one’s that fast, surely?”

“Well, actually!” Albus says, and he moves next to Gareth and starts talking him through the plans that he’s been making water tight over the last few weeks with the help of his family. And the more he talks, the more certain he becomes that his compromise might just turn out to be the best thing he’s ever done. Albus and Sev, his past and his future, are colliding in the present, and the promise of it all glitters in front of him, illuminating a path that he’s been so uncertain about for so long, but that he finally feels is heading in the right direction.


	20. Epilogue

When Albus wakes up he feels gloriously warm and well-rested. His limbs are heavy, but the good sort of heavy that says they’ve done a lot of work and now they’re recovering. His head has the faintest niggle, but that’s to be expected given how loud last night was and how much champagne he drank at the after party. All in all, he feels excellent.

It takes him a few seconds to become aware that the bed is empty next to him. That’s not really surprising either, though. Judging by the sunshine streaming in through the curtains that they forgot to close on their way to bed last night, it’s nearly midday. Scorpius will have been up for hours.

Albus rolls out of bed, rubbing his eyes. He pulls on the first t-shirt that comes to hand from his bag, a fiery orange league one, and wriggles into a pair of jeans, then he runs a hand through his hair and sets off down the three flights of stairs from his old attic bedroom where they’re staying while they’re at his parents’ house.

The kitchen is in chaos, the way it normally is here. Harry is rushing around trying to sort out the first dinner preparations, and he already looks stressed. Ginny is the centre of calm in the room, doing yesterday’s washing up and offering Harry soothing words. James is sitting at the table heckling, and Lily is cross-legged in the middle of the floor, playing with the cat.

They all look up when Albus comes in, and Ginny is the first one to get to him, her hands still covered in soap suds. She beams and wraps him up in a tight hug.

“The Prophet is raving about yesterday’s meet. You’ve done so well.” She kisses him on the cheek before releasing him. “Your interview’s in the paper too.”

“Be careful when you read it,” James advises. “There might be some drool on the photos – Scorpius was a big fan. Having said that, there’s a photo in here for you, too. They’ve finally announced his promotion. Who’d have ever thought that my useless little brother would end up as half of the wizarding world’s favourite power couple?” He sighs but comes bouncing over to slap Albus on the back. Albus winces and ducks away from him.

“Thanks, James,” he groans, rubbing his back. He sits down on the floor next to Lily and leans against her side when she squeezes his shoulders.

“It’s a really good interview,” she murmurs. “You’ve done really well. And everything they’re saying about the race is true too. I don’t think I’ve had so much fun in my life before.”

Albus wrinkles his nose. “It can’t have been better than breaking into a pyramid.”

“It can,” Lily assures him. “Anyway, that’s work. Which automatically makes it about thirty percent more dull.”

Albus grins and pokes her in the arm. “Liar.”

“Fine. Maybe only twenty percent more dull.”

Albus laughs, scratches the cat under the chin, then gets up and goes to find a copy of the paper. There are two on the table, and when he turns one of them to the back page his dad comes and reads over his shoulder.

“Haven’t you already read this?” He asks, glancing up at Harry.

“A couple of times,” Harry says with a smile. “Do you mind if I read it again?”

“No. But I think you’re ridiculous.”

“I’m ridiculously proud of you.”

Albus rolls his eyes but a glowing smile spreads across his face as he reads the report from last night – the first meet of their new league. He’s not sure what his favourite bit of it is. He likes the opening, which describes the crackling energy in the air at the Harpies’ stadium before the start of the racing. He remembers the roar of the crowd so clearly, carrying through the warm, clear summer air. He’d stood in the mouth of the tunnel to the pitch and looked up into the packed stands and a shiver had run through him. It was one of those rare moments when he’d realised how special a night it was right then, and he’d been able to capture every second of it to remember back later.

There’s a bit in the report about the brutal carnage of the mass start race, and it makes him smile because last night’s race was nothing on how they used to be. It did look fierce though, from the ground. Fierce and spectacular, just the way it was supposed to be.

The rest of the report is mostly dedicated to the outcomes of the racing. The writer praises the quality of the competitors, and Albus feels flushed with pride as he reads the names of all the people who he knows, the ones who’ve been working so hard to make the meet successful and exciting. There are a couple of newcomers to the league who Albus never raced against but who he’s certain would have had a chance of beating him, and there are all the names of his old friends and competitors too. And amongst it all is the undeniable fact that he was the one who started all this, helped pull it together, and make it work. He can’t help but feel that’s far more exciting than winning any race or meet for himself.

“Are you glad now that I persuaded you we could do this without breaking the law?” Albus asks, glancing up at his dad.

Harry grins at him. “It’s almost enough to make me glad you broke the law in the first place so you could find out that you wanted to do this. But don’t tell anyone that or I’ll lose my job.” He ruffles Albus’s hair and Albus ducks away from him, brushes his hair back into place, and starts flipping back through the paper to find his interview.

Harry squeezes his shoulder and goes back to his frenzied cooking, but Albus can feel his dad’s eyes on him the whole time, and whenever he glances in Harry’s direction he sees that his dad is grinning broadly, all his stress long gone.

The interview is just before the sports section, and Albus doesn’t bother to look at the text – he still remembers what he said – but he looks at the photos. They’ve come out well. In most of them he looks put together and at least vaguely like he knows what he’s doing. The best one is the biggest. A huge photo of him wearing his old racing clothes, the jacket slung over his shoulder so his tattooed arms are on full display, with the scars visible underneath. He’s got his flying goggles round his neck, his hair is wind-ruffled, and he’s looking off into the distance like he hasn’t even noticed that the camera is there. Even he has to admit that he looks alright.

“That’s Scorpius’s favourite one,” James says, sneaking up behind Albus and resting his hands on his shoulders. “That’s why he’s gone for a walk – to cool off.“

Albus shrugs his brother off. “Where’s the one of him that I’m meant to be falling in love with?”

James grins and starts riffling forward through the pages. “It’s right... here.” He stops and makes a ta-da motion at the paper.

The photo of Scorpius is accompanied by a headline and article, and Albus looks at those first, knowing that once he starts looking at the picture he won’t be able to stop.

**Malfoy promoted again**

_One of the Ministry’s most talented young Unspeakables has earned his second promotion in under a year. Scorpius Malfoy, 25, took his first position at the Department of Mysteries last November, after his prominent role in the foiling of a plot to murder Harry Potter and ultimately assume control of wizarding Britain. Malfoy has also been credited for finding Harry Potter’s youngest son, Albus, who had been missing and presumed dead for several years._

_His promotion coincides with a restructuring of divisions within the Department of Mysteries, and Malfoy will be responsible for the management of the Temporal Research Division, reporting to the newly appointed Head of Research..._

Albus scans further down the article but it just goes on to talk more about the restructuring, which isn’t all that interesting. Instead he turns to the far more important matter of the picture that goes with the article, which might be his favourite photo of Scorpius ever.

He’s leaving work, coming out via the phone boxes. There are a couple of books hugged to his chest, and he’s still wearing his swirling Ministry robes, so he looks important and grown up. His hair is a bit messy, and there are faint shadows under his eyes, but there’s a big grin lighting up his face. Even though his head is down, and he’s clearly thinking about something, whatever it is is making him radiantly happy. He looks like exactly what he is – a ridiculous nerd who loves his job and his life. It sums him up perfectly, and now Albus wants nothing more than to find him and kiss him, because he’s so hopelessly in love with this man.

“Is Scorpius out in the garden?” He asks the world at large.

James smirks. “Told you you’d like the photo.”

“I think so,” Ginny says, ignoring James and looking across at Albus. “He might have gone for a wander across the fields, but he should be getting back now. I told him brunch would be ready at one, and Draco will be here soon too.”

“Great,” Albus says, getting to his feet. “Thanks, Mum. I’m going to find him.”

“Don’t be too long,” Harry calls as Albus races for the back door.

“Don’t have too much fun,” James adds, and Lily smacks him on the leg. Albus hears him whining about it as he heads across the patio and out towards the road.

It doesn’t take him long to find Scorpius. In fact, Albus almost falls over him as he skirts round the broom shed. Scorpius is sitting with his back to the closed doors, gazing out across the countryside, and Albus doesn’t see him until the last second. He grabs hold of Scorpius’s shoulder hard to stop himself collapsing into his lap, and when he does fall, he manages to land in a heap on the ground next to Scorpius rather than on top of him.

“Hello,” Scorpius says, rubbing his shoulder and looking at Albus in surprise and confusion. “Nice of you to drop in. Where did you come from?”

“The house.” Albus tries to arrange his limbs in some sort of sensible way, like he’d meant to sit down next to Scorpius. “You’re on the floor. I was expecting to find you walking.”

“No, I was sitting. Are you okay? You didn’t hurt yourself when you fell, did you?”

Albus shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. And I didn’t fall, I sat, in a very dignified way.”

Scorpius nods, slow and mocking. “Very dignified. Very deliberate. You’ve never been more graceful.”

Albus nudges him. “Shut up. I had a lot of champagne last night. I’m doing well.”

Scorpius grins. “Don’t forget about the Firewhisky too. I saw that.”

Albus drops his head onto Scorpius’s shoulder with a groan. “You weren’t meant to see that. Now I’m going to get a lecture about how I’m not meant to be drinking.”

Scorpius wraps an arm round him. “No, you’re not. But it was your big night and they’re your sponsors. It would have been bad business to say no. And you’re very cute when you’re drunk.” He ruffles Albus’s hair. “You get affectionate, and your cheeks go all pink.”

“No,” Albus moans, hiding his face.

“Yes,” Scorpius laughs and kisses him on the temple.

“I hate you,” Albus says, squirming away. “You’re so mean.”

“If I tell you how brilliant you are and how much I loved your interview in the Prophet this morning will that endear me to you in any way?” Scorpius asks, taking hold of his hand.

Albus lifts his head. “It might. James mentioned that you liked the photos.”

Scorpius nods, eyes glittering in the summer sun. “I liked the photos.”

Albus smiles and squeezes his hand. “I liked your photo too. A lot.”

“That one of you with the jacket,” Scorpius says, fanning himself with his free hand.

“Were you thinking about work while you were smiling to yourself like that?” Albus asks, grinning at him.

Scorpius shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure I was thinking about you, actually.”

“Oh,” Albus says, mouth opening a little in surprise. He looks at Scorpius and Scorpius looks back at him, then they move as one.

Albus threads his fingers into Scorpius’s hair and Scorpius wraps an arm round his waist to pull him closer as their mouths meet in a hungry kiss. Albus squeezes his eyes shut and sucks on Scorpius’s lower lip, enjoying the way Scorpius’s breath hitches and his grip tightens on Albus’s t-shirt.

“Have I mentioned this morning that I love you?” Scorpius asks, pulling back to rest his forehead against Albus’s. “And that I’m very proud of you?”

Albus grins at him. “You have now. And have I mentioned that you’re a beautiful nerd and I feel so lucky to have you?”

Scorpius trails a finger over his jaw. “I’m always delighted to be your beautiful nerd.”

“Come here,” Albus breathes, and drags him in for another searing kiss.

It’s easy to get lost in their own little world, surrounded by the peace of the summer afternoon. There’s birdsong in the orchard, the scent of Ginny’s sweet peas fills the air, a gentle breeze ruffles the hedgerows, and Albus and Scorpius are entirely alone together. Or at least they think they are.

They’re so oblivious to what’s going on around them that they don’t realise they’re no longer alone until someone clears their throat close by. They spring apart instantly and look up to see Draco standing looking down at them, an expression of faint amusement on his face. Instantly Albus’s cheeks burn, and Scorpius flushes bright pink as he leaps to his feet.

“H-hi, Dad. I didn’t realise you’d arrived already.”

“I got here early,” Draco says, smirking. “Harry told me you’d gone for a walk together.”

Albus gets up too, smoothing his t-shirt out. “Scorpius did. Go for a walk, that is. I went looking for him, and then I found him, and... He wasn’t walking anymore.”

“No, I can see that. Would you like me to go away and come back in a few minutes?”

Albus bites his tongue so he doesn’t answer an immediate yes. Scorpius swallows and glances at Albus.

“I, um... I’m not sure that would help. It might make it worse. Anyway, we’re done now. We’re fine. And you’re here!” He smiles at his dad and throws himself into a warm, solid hug. “I missed you.”

Draco hugs him back. “I missed you too. The papers inform me that you’re both doing well. And I’m glad they keep me updated because it sounds like you two have been too busy to write letters.” He releases Scorpius and comes across to hug Albus too.

“I wrote to you last week,” Scorpius says indignantly. “Which was two days ago.”

Draco smiles. “I’m just teasing.” He lets go of Albus and looks between the two of them. “Did you enjoy last night?”

“It was stressful,” Albus says, glancing at Scorpius. “Just to start with. Then it was fun.”

Scorpius beams back at him. “It was the best night ever.”

Albus thinks about the crowd leaving the stadium at the end and filtering out towards the Apparition points scattered around Holyhead, the atmosphere bubbling with laughter and happy chatter, a good proportion of them wearing the new league merchandise and planning how they were going to get to the next meet.

“It was pretty perfect,” he admits quietly.

Draco gives him a very serious nod. “I’m glad. You deserve it. You’ve been working so hard.”

“Now we just have to make sure the rest of the meets go as well.”

“But first,” Draco says, “you get to have a day off and celebrate. Speaking of which, I think your dad has brunch ready.”

His dad hasn’t just made brunch, he’s laid on a feast. There are stacks of blueberry pancakes, the most glorious Eggs Royale, plenty of crispy bacon and sausages, and a heap of homemade toast and jam that Scorpius finishes before Albus has had chance to decide if he’ll have any room left for it. There’s also Prosecco that Albus can only assume was provided by Draco, because he’s the only person in the room who would have suggested having bubbles with brunch.

By the time they’re done eating, Albus understands why his dad was looking so stressed before. What he doesn’t understand is how they’re supposed to manage the second feast that’s already being prepared for dinner. He’s not sure he’s even been so full in his life.

They spend the early part of the afternoon lazing around in the living room. Lily thrashes James at Wizard’s Chess, and the cat climbs all over Draco, who seems both alarmed and pleased by the sudden show of affection. Albus sits with his head on Scorpius’s shoulder and naps until James loudly announces that instead of playing Quidditch – because he’s a good brother and doesn’t want to leave Albus out – they’re going to go for a walk before dinner. Albus rubs his eyes and resists pointing out that the sort of walk James probably has planned will leave him too tired to do anything for days. Thankfully, Ginny intervenes on his behalf, and they all agree to a gentle stroll across the fields while the dinner finishes cooking.

It’s a noisy, energetic party that sets out from the house. James and Lily are behaving no differently to how they did during the walks Albus remembers going on as a child – chasing and laughing. Harry and Ginny follow along behind, holding hands and chatting to Draco who’s walking with them. Albus and Scorpius bring up the rear, arms linked, Albus leaning against Scorpius’s side.

The sun is blazing down on the tranquil countryside, and there’s a bright blue sky overhead. A couple of gnomes chase each other through the crops, and Albus can’t stop smiling. The last couple of days have been perfect in a way he hasn’t felt for almost as long as he can remember. It’s like all the disparate pieces of his life are falling into place. The league is working out, his family are all here and happy, and things are going just as well for Scorpius as for him. It’s almost a year since Scorpius came back into his life, and it’s taken time, but he finally feels truly content. This isn’t how he’d have ever imagined life being, but now it’s here he’s delighted with it. There’s just one last thing he needs to do before he can settle in and enjoy what promises to be the best summer of his life.

“You’re looking very happy,” Scorpius says, nudging him gently in the arm.

“Am I?” Albus asks, grinning up at him.

Scorpius nods. “You look especially cute when you’re all smiley.” He touches Albus’s cheek. “You’ve got a dimple. I like it.”

“You’re a dimple,” Albus retorts, elbowing him.

Scorpius’s smile spreads wider across his face. “Is that really the best you can do?”

Albus looks at him, trying to think of a snappy comeback, then he nods. “Your face is too handsome to insult.”

Scorpius’s eyes shine with delight, and he wraps his arms round Albus and squashes him in a hug. “You. Are adorable.”

Albus pretends to grumble and squirm, but he ends up planting a kiss on Scorpius, and by the time they surface the others have got far enough ahead that they’re out of sight.

“Anyway,” Scorpius says, as they set off to try and catch up. “You didn’t tell me what you were smiling about. I know when you’re happy about something. Were you thinking about yesterday?”

Albus shakes his head and swings his and Scorpius’s hands between them. “No, I was thinking about you.”

Scorpius squeezes his hand. “Were you.”

Albus nods. “I was. I was thinking about how the only thing left to do before my life is completely perfect is to ask you to marry me.”

Scorpius pauses in his stride and looks at Albus. “And is that something that’s likely to happen soon?”

Albus gives what he hopes is a non-committal shrug. “It might be...”

Scorpius’s grip on his hand tightens. “Because you already know what my answer will be. In fact I don’t see why we don’t just skip all the formalities and declare ourselves-“

Albus kisses him to shut him up. When he pulls away he takes both of Scorpius’s hands. “No skipping anything. This is the only thing in my life that I’ve ever not done spontaneously on an impulse. Let me do it right.”

Scorpius bounces on the balls of his feet and beams at him. “You’ve got a plan? You’ve really been thinking about this? Albus! What are you up to?”

Albus shakes his head and lifts a hand so he can press a finger to Scorpius’s lips. “I’m not saying anything. Wait and see.”

“But I’m terrible at surprises,” Scorpius says against Albus’s finger.

Albus sighs. “I know. But it’s not like you’ll have to wait long.”

Scorpius lights up. “I won’t?”

“If I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

“But-“

“No buts. And I’m not talking about this any more until after dinner.”

Scorpius’s eyes go wide. “After dinner?” He makes a sound so high-pitched that Albus can barely hear it and starts waving his hands around like he doesn’t know what to do with them. It’s like he’s fourteen again and Albus has just announced that his birthday present will be a lifetime supply of Jelly Slugs. He looks ridiculous, and Albus is so hopelessly in love with him that he catches hold of Scorpius’s flailing hands and kisses him again.

“Breathe,” he advises when they part. “You do want to live until after dinner, don’t you?”

Scorpius nods very fast.

“Then I would say that breathing is essential.”

Scorpius nods again and gulps in a breath. “Okay. I can do that. I can definitely-“ He beams at Albus, and his smile is so bright that it makes the summer sunshine seem dull in comparison.

“You’re perfect,” Albus tells him, giving him a little nudge.

“You’re going to ask me to marry you,” Scorpius replies, nudging him back.

“Maybe,” Albus says, nudging him again. “It’s a surprise.”

“It’s a surprise,” Scorpius agrees, skipping a step as they set off walking again. “I don’t know that anything’s happening.”

“It’s just a normal day,” Albus says soothingly, already struggling to keep up with a now very bouncy Scorpius.

“Completely normal. Totally normal. The most normal day ever.” Scorpius drops his hand and dances off ahead.

“Can it be a totally normal, slow day?” Albus asks.

“Oh.” Scorpius deflates ever so slightly, but when he comes back to Albus’s side he beams at him and gently links arms with him, seeming quite happy to trot along at the sedate pace Albus is setting. “Is this okay for a normal, slow day?” He asks after a few dozen steps.

Albus squeezes his arm and nods. “Perfect. Thank you.”

“It’s easier to breathe when we’re going slower too,” Scorpius admits, and Albus ducks his head to hide a smile.

“That’s good then. Breathing is good.”

“Breathing is to be encouraged.”

“I like you better when you’re not suffocating.”

“Do you think?” Scorpius asks.

“Yes,” Albus says. “Yes I do.”

They make it back to the house in one piece. Scorpius has stopped bouncing and hyperventilating, but he’s still beaming. His smile is so wide that Draco frowns at Albus when they walk into the kitchen. Draco is the only person who knows what Albus has planned, because Albus had to talk to him about it partly to ask for permission but mostly to ask for advice. Albus half rolls his eyes and gives a little shake of his head to indicate that Scorpius is just being ridiculous, and Draco smiles and rolls his eyes back.

The walk they went on wasn’t that long, but it’s left Albus feeling more unsteady and tired than he wants to admit to anyone, so he sits in his spot at the table to wait for dinner to be served, while everyone else apart from Harry goes next door for a game of Exploding Snap. Normally he’d help his dad with the cooking, but today he just wants to sit quietly. It doesn’t work though, because as he sits there, panic creeps up on him.

He starts to feel nervous for the first time. Up until now he’s been completely confident in his plan, and until last night he hadn’t had time to doubt himself, but being faced with the prospect of actually putting the plan into action is an entirely different thing. It’s stupid, because Scorpius is bathed in the sort of radiant glow of joy that he normally reserves for his birthday, Christmas, and particularly special date nights. It’s quite clear what his answer is going to be. But that‘s not stopping the swarm of Doxies that are buzzing around in the pit of Albus’s stomach.

What if he doesn’t live up to Scorpius’s expectations? What if he comes over all tongue tied and can’t get the question out? What if he falls going down the steps to the garden and at best makes an idiot of himself and at worst ruins everything by having to go to hospital? What if getting engaged somehow ruins their relationship, and they both regret it forever? A thousand different scenarios chase each other round and round inside Albus’s head, and apparently it’s really obvious that something’s wrong.

“Are you feeling alright, Albus?” Harry asks, glancing up from his cooking. “You look a bit pale.”

Albus hoists a smile onto his face. “I’m fine. Just a bit tired, I think.”

Harry frowns, not looking entirely convinced, but he doesn’t push it. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything.”

Albus nods. “Thanks, Dad.” He clenches his fists on his knees under the table and tries to stay put, but worry is tightening his chest and at the same time he feels shaky and tired. He wants nothing more than to be alone now, possibly to sleep for a while, so he gets to his feet and leaves the room, aware of his dad’s eyes on him.

He finds Scorpius and picks his way across the room to him. Scorpius beams when he approaches and reaches a hand out to him.

“Are you going to play? James is cheating. We need to gang up on him.”

“I’m not cheating,” James says indignantly, although his ears go red, a sure sign that he’s definitely cheating.

Albus takes Scorpius’s hand and squeezes it. “No, I’m going to go upstairs for a bit before dinner.”

Scorpius shifts onto his knees. “Are you okay? I can come if you want.”

Albus shakes his head. “No, that’s okay. I’m fine, I promise.”

“Do you want me to come and get you when dinner’s ready?”

Albus manages a small, unsteady smile. “That would be great, thanks.” He lifts Scorpius’s hand so he can kiss it, and when he lifts his head he realises that Scorpius’s smile has faded completely, so he leans in closer and strokes Scorpius’s hair.

“Don’t worry about me,” he murmurs. “Please. I love seeing you happy. It’s nearly dinner, which means it’s also nearly after dinner.” He flashes Scorpius a hopeful smile and it works. The joy rekindles on Scorpius’s face, and he leans his head into Albus’s hand.

“Alright. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

“Thanks.” Albus bends down to drop a kiss into Scorpius’s hair, which leaves him feeling more than a bit dizzy, then he flees up the stairs to his room.

When he gets there he sinks onto the bed and curls up on his side, holding his churning stomach. He’s only realising now just how exhausted he is. After two days in a row on the go his limbs are heavy and stiff, and he feels lightheaded. He doesn’t have the energy to be worrying about proposing as well. Maybe this was a stupid idea. He’s pushed himself too far and now he’s paying the price.

He squeezes his eyes shut and digs his fingers into his hair, covering his face with his arms. He’s aware that he’s drifting, somewhere on the edge of sleep, with time passing in fits and starts, of seconds that feel like hours and minutes that feel like no time at all. The nausea from his churning stomach washes over him, and he struggles to fight it down. This isn’t a time when he can be ill. He won’t let it happen. All his family are downstairs, this is meant to be a good day, and for all his worries he really wants to propose to Scorpius.

The world fades away, and he must doze for a bit, because when there’s a soft knock on his door he jumps awake, a rush of adrenaline surging through him. It leaves him breathless and shaking.

“C-come in,” he calls, sitting up and trying to steady himself, one hand pressed to his chest.

He expects Scorpius to be the one to come into the room, but it’s not. His dad stands on the threshold, looking uncertain but concerned.

“Hi,” he says. “I... I wanted to check to make sure you were alright, but you don’t-“ He gestures to the room. “Do you mind if I come in?”

Albus turns his back on his dad but shakes his head anyway. “No, it’s okay.”

The floorboards creak and then the bed sinks as Harry sits down. “You’re not feeling very well,” his dad murmurs, and there’s something about it being a statement rather than a question that makes Albus not want to deny the truth.

“Not really,” he whispers back. Admitting when he needs help is something that he’s still struggling with, and he’s proud of himself for saying it.

“What’s wrong?” His dad asks, inching closer to him round the side of the bed, until he can reach out to put a hand on his shoulder.

Albus shakes his head. “I’m... I’m really tired. I want to sleep, but I... I can’t let Scorpius down.”

Harry pauses, and Albus can feel him considering the right words. “Albus... Scorpius wouldn’t be disappointed in you for looking after yourself. I think he’d be pleased.”

Albus gulps in a breath and lifts his head to look at his dad. “I know, but... I-I told him I was going to propose to him after dinner, and I want to... I really really want to.”

Harry blinks. “You’re planning to ask him to marry you?”

Albus rubs his chest and lies back down on the bed, but he twists his body round so he can still look at his dad. “Yes. I am.”

For a moment Harry’s expression is pure surprise, but then he starts to smile, and there’s a warm, glowing pride that comes shining out of him. He reaches out to rub Albus’s shoulder and ruffle his hair. “That’s brilliant news.”

“I know. And I have to do it. I want to do it. But...” He clenches his fists in frustration and buries his face in his blankets. “I need it to be right and it won’t be right when I feel like this. It won’t be how I want it to be.”

“Maybe you don’t have to do it today.” Harry’s fingers brush lightly through Albus’s hair, making him shiver. “Maybe it can wait. Scorpius isn’t going anywhere. He’ll understand.”

“I think...” Albus murmurs into the blankets. “I think that- that Delphi would have been delighted to know that something she did to me... stopped me asking Scorpius to marry me when I wanted to.”

“Perhaps she would,” Harry says. “But I also think that looking after yourself and making sure that things are right for you isn’t an admission of defeat. I’d say it’s more of a victory, actually.”

“Doesn’t feel like a victory,” Albus mutters. “It feels like she’s winning all the time.” He wriggles away up the bed and pulls the pillow over his head. It plunges him into warm darkness, and he can faintly smell Scorpius’s shampoo on the fabric of the pillow case.

He sighs and thinks about Scorpius’s bright smile, and about teasing him earlier in the sun drenched field. It’s moments like that which remind him he’s so in love with Scorpius it hurts. It makes his heart ache in the best possible way, like there’s too much love inside to be contained. All he wants to do is try and express that feeling in any way he can. He wants to keep reminding Scorpius that he’s here forever, that he’s really committed to this, to the two of them; that he believes in them. That’s why this has to be perfect: because the best time to tell Scorpius how he feels is when he’s proposing. If he can’t find the words then, how will he ever?

“I just want you to know,” Harry says softly, rubbing a hand down Albus’s back, “that you’re free. She’s not you. She’s not your illness either, even if it feels like she is. Your life isn’t a war, Albus, either against her or yourself. You can and should choose to do whatever you want. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think Scorpius wants perfect speeches or grand gestures. He wants you. And maybe that means waiting until tomorrow to get engaged, or maybe it means him coming up here so you can talk to him now, but whatever it is I’m pretty sure he’ll be delighted with it.”

Albus lies there with his eyes closed and lets his dad rub his back for a few moments longer, then he takes the pillow off his head and blinks blearily at the room. “Remember when I used to think you were wrong about everything?” He asks, inching onto his knees and trying to brush his hair into some sort of order with his fingers.

“I don’t think I would have dared come up here to talk to you,” Harry says. “I’d have sent your mum.”

“Probably sensible,” Albus says, twisting round to sit with his back against the pillows. “If you’d tried, I would have yelled at you.”

“But you’re not going to yell at me today.”

Albus smiles and shakes his head. “Not today. For one thing I don’t have the energy, and for another... I think you’re right. About Scorpius. And about Delphi... I guess if anyone knows what it’s like to have someone looming over them it’s you.”

“You can’t escape the past,” Harry says. “But that doesn’t mean you should let it hang over you. The past is the past. The future is yours to make.”

Albus gives a dry little laugh and looks down at his knees. “She used to say that. It’s annoyingly good advice.” He runs a hand over his face, closes his eyes, and draws in a few long, slow breaths. His body still feels sluggish and heavy, but his head has stopped spinning and he doesn’t feel sick anymore. Some of his nerves have calmed down. From the kitchen he can smell the delicious scent of dinner wafting up to him, and his stomach rumbles.

“Can I come down for dinner and see how I get on?” He asks, looking up at his dad.

Harry frowns at him. “You don’t have to ask permission to eat.”

Albus shakes his head. “Right. Sorry. Old habits... I’ll come down and have some food, and then after that...” He leans across and opens the top drawer of his bedside cabinet. There’s a little box in there, a bit bigger than a ring box, with his engagement gift inside. He tucks it into his pocket and flashes his dad a smile. “Just in case.” Then he closes the drawer and gets to his feet.

He sways on the spot, and his dad gets up and catches hold of his arm.

“Do you need help?”

Albus thinks about the three steep flights of stairs down from the attic and nods. “I think so, today.”

“We’ll take it slow,” Harry says, and they set off carefully on the long journey downstairs.

It’s loud and hot in the kitchen, even with all the windows and the back door open. James is telling terrible jokes, fuelled by a couple of glasses of Draco’s finest wine, and Lily and Draco are both laughing at him, which is only encouraging him. Harry and Ginny are trying to hide amused smiles while they chat together about something that Albus can’t hear. Scorpius is occasionally contributing to the joke telling, but mostly he’s telling Albus about something work-related that he probably isn’t meant to be talking about, but he sounds too excited to contain himself. Albus is listening while he picks at his green beans and Yorkshire pudding. He doesn’t have much appetite and his head has started hurting again, but his dad’s food is so delicious that it’s worth at least trying to eat it.

With the heat and the noise, he feels far from perfect, but when Scorpius is beside him talking and smiling he doesn’t really care anymore. That pressure of affection is building up inside him, and he can feel the box in his pocket digging into his leg. This might not go the way he wants it to, it might even go spectacularly badly, but he’s going to try it.

Once all the plates are empty, Ginny gets to her feet and starts clearing the table, and Albus’s nerves spike inside him.

“Let’s have a break before dessert,” Harry says, leaning back in his seat. “I’m too full to move now.” The rest of the table makes noises of approval, and Albus glances at Scorpius.

“I think I’m going to get some fresh air. Do you want to come?”

Scorpius’s expression goes from an unrestrained grin to something nervous and sharp, but his eyes don’t lose their shine for a second. “Okay.” He gets up and offers Albus his arm. Albus is grateful to take it, and he leans against Scorpius’s side as they go out into the twilit garden.

It’s so much cooler out here. A gentle breeze sweeps over them, and Albus closes his eyes and inhales. It’s quieter too, the silence broken only by late night bird song and the rustle of the leaves in the orchard.

“Can we sit?” Albus asks, gesturing to the steps that lead down onto the lawn.

“Of course.” Scorpius helps Albus sit on the top step, then plops down next to him and wraps an arm round his waist. “How are you feeling?”

Albus rests his head on Scorpius’s shoulder. “Less than ideal, but I’ll live.”

Scorpius kisses him on the forehead. “Let’s have an early night tonight.”

Albus nods. “I’m not going to object to that.”

They lapse into silence, and Albus enjoys the feeling of Scorpius breathing against him. It would be so easy to drift off to sleep right here on this peaceful evening, but he can’t sleep yet.

He lifts his head and turns to Scorpius. “You know I want to ask you something. And I’m sorry it’s not going to be perfect, but... I hope it’ll be okay anyway.”

Scorpius sits up very straight and clasps his hands in his lap. Albus notices that his grip is so tight that his fingertips have gone white.

“Are you nervous too?” He asks, glancing at Scorpius’s hands.

Scorpius looks down and laughs, tucking his hands into his pockets instead. “My incredible boyfriend is about to propose to me. Yes I’m nervous. And excited. And... a lot of things. I’m a lot right now. This is a lot. I- I’m rambling. Sorry. Go on.”

Albus smiles. “You’re really cute when you ramble.”

Scorpius goes pink. “I’m glad it’s working in my favour.”

“Everything works in your favour.” Albus puts his hand in his pocket and closes it round the handle of his wand. He twists the handle between his fingers, then sighs and lets it go. “I was going to cast stars in the trees and make everything look beautiful,” he says. “But I think if I did that now I’d just pass out. Or set the orchard on fire.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “I don’t need stars. It’s okay. You’re enough.”

“My dad said you’d think that,” Albus says, ducking his head. “I still think you deserve stars though. You deserve everything. You deserve the world. I wish I could give it to you.”

“You’re the world to me,” Scorpius murmurs, reaching out to take Albus’s hand.

Albus grins. “That’s really soppy.“

Scorpius grins back. “I know. It’s your fault.”

“Alright.” Albus squeezes Scorpius’s hand. “Hold the soppiness for a second while I do this.”

“You mean this isn’t going to be the soppiest bit yet?” Scorpius asks.

“It might be.” Albus lifts their linked hands to Scorpius’s mouth and they both press a finger to his lips. “Now sshh.”

Scorpius nods silently and sits and smiles at Albus. It’s at that point that Albus realises he didn’t need to cast stars in the trees. The sun is sinking behind the orchard, and the real stars are coming out overhead. The light from the house is bathing the garden in a golden glow, and Scorpius’s eyes are shining as bright as the silver moon overhead. It’s perfect just like this. Everything is perfect when Scorpius is part of it.

“A year ago,” Albus says, and his voice catches in his throat so he coughs and tries again. “A year ago I was trying to hide from myself. I was unhappy, I was lonely, I didn’t think I could have any of the things I wanted. And then you walked through the gates of the Training Ground, and it was like the first piece fell into place in my life.

“We went and got coffee, and we talked, and I had no idea how I’d ever managed to walk away from you. My life is exponentially better with you in it. You bring me sunshine, and stars, and magic, and... you make me believe that I can have a future; that I deserve a future.”

He swallows and looks down at his hands. “That day a year ago, you connected me back to the life I was missing, and I know now that I could have it all without you, that I’m wanted here and that there’s a life for me here. But the truth is that I want to share this life with you.” He glances up at Scorpius. “When I look at my family I want you to be there too. When I come home I want to be coming home to you. When I’m having a bad day I want to have the hope that you’ll be there to help. And when I’m having a good day I want to share it with you. I hope that you know – I _know_ that you know – that I’m staying forever, but I want the whole world to know that. I want you and them to know how much I love you, and I want to stand up and promise that I’ll never leave you, that I’ll love you no matter what, and that my heart will belong to you forever.”

He pauses, and Scorpius seems frozen, gazing at him with sparkling silver eyes, mouth slightly open like he’s lost for words, then he looks down and rummages in his pocket for the box.

“This isn’t a ring, I’m sorry. I-I asked your dad how I was supposed to do this, and he said that when he and your mum got engaged they went and got their rings together, and I thought it was a nice idea, so I-I thought-“ He shakes his head. “Anyway. This is a gift for you, because I love you, and I-I just want to ask...” He exhales a shaky stream of air then breathes in again through his nose and squares his shoulders as he looks right at Scorpius. “Will you marry me?”

Scorpius covers his face with his hand, and for an alarmingly long time he doesn’t say anything. Then he drops his hand and reaches for Albus, pulling him in for a tight hug, and Albus can feel him shaking. It’s difficult to tell if he’s crying or just overwhelmed, and Albus doesn’t know how to ask, so he just holds onto Scorpius and messes with his hair and kisses his cheek until finally Scorpius pulls back and looks at him.

There are tears on his face, but he’s smiling, and he cups Albus’s chin with hands. “Yes,” he whispers, and his voice breaks. His smile widens like the sun emerging from behind clouds. “Yes of course I’ll marry you. Come here.” And then they kiss, and Albus is pretty sure the only reason he’s not crying too is because he’s so tired. Now the nervous energy is wearing off his hands are shaking and he feels exhausted right to the core. All he wants is to curl up by Scorpius’s side and sleep.

“What were you saying about this not being perfect?” Scorpius asks when they part, and he’s wrapped an arm round Albus and Albus has his head resting on his shoulder again.

Albus shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”

Scorpius squeezes his shoulders. “I’m not disappointed. I could never be disappointed with you. Can I open this?” He points to the box that Albus is still holding loosely in his hand.

Albus nods and sits up a bit. “Yes, go on.”

Scorpius takes the box and opens the lid to reveal the pair of tiny silver cufflinks inside. They’re set with stones that look like rubies, but Scorpius frowns down at them then glances at him.

“Those aren’t jewels. What is it?”

“It’s Fiendfyre,” Albus says. “Crystallised Fiendfyre. You can sort of freeze it. It kills it, so it’s safe, but it looks really cool. And... look closer.”

Scorpius takes one of the cufflinks out of the box and inspects it. “There’s a bird on it.”

“An albatross,” Albus says with a smile. “Like your Patronus.”

Scorpius grins and looks at him. “Have I mentioned today that you’re perfect?”

“I’m not sure,” Albus says happily. “Maybe you should say it again just to make sure.”

Scorpius puts the cuff links safely back in the box, then leans over and kiss him. “You’re perfect, and I love you. And you want to know the best bit? You’re my fiancé.”

Albus blinks at him. “I... I am. I hadn’t thought of that. I’m your fiancé. And you’re mine.” Happiness wells up inside him and his grin is so wide it hurts his cheeks. “We’re going to get married.”

“Yes,” Scorpius says. “Yes we are.”

“I heard something about marriage,” Draco says behind them, and they both jump and look round to see him walking across the patio holding a bottle of champagne. “We were wondering if we’re allowed to come out and join you now?”

Albus looks at Scorpius and nods. “I think so.”

Draco smiles and calls back to the house. “They don’t mind us coming outside.” He draws his wand and conjures up some chairs on the lawn, then looks back at the pair of them. “Is it good news?”

“It might be,” Scorpius says brightly. “Does everyone know this is happening?”

Draco shakes his head. “Not yet.” He sets the champagne down on the ground as the rest of the family comes out of the house and joins them in the garden, Lily sitting on the steps just below them, James hopping up onto the wall, and the adults taking the chairs.

“We thought it was too nice an evening to stay inside,” Ginny says. “I hope you two don’t mind us invading.”

“No, it’s fine.” Albus waits until everyone is sitting down, then he squeezes Scorpius’s hand. “It’s good timing actually. We’ve got some news for you.” He looks at Scorpius and gives him a nod.

Scorpius doesn’t look at the others when he speaks. He keeps his eyes on Albus and beams at him. “We have. Albus and I are engaged.”

There’s very little surprise at the announcement, but there’s lots of joy. Harry comes over and gives Scorpius a tight hug. Draco nods and smiles at Albus as he starts summoning delicate crystal champagne flutes from thin air. Ginny crushes them both in her arms and kisses Scorpius on the cheek. Lily high fives Albus and tells Scorpius to look after him. Even James manages to resist making puking noises, instead ruffling Albus’s hair and telling Scorpius that ‘it’s going to be nice to have a sensible brother for the first time ever’.

The garden feels very bright and cosy. Draco’s champagne tastes like starlight and joy. Albus is happy to curl up next to Scorpius and drift contentedly in and out of consciousness, surrounded by the buzz of his family’s chatter.

A year ago he wouldn’t have dared to dream about a night like this, but now it’s his reality. He’s home. He’s got everyone he loves with him. He’s engaged to Scorpius and they’re building a life together. None of that means that things are perfect, there’s still pain that will never go away and healing is going to be a lifelong process, but he’s no longer alone. He’s safe, he’s happy, and he’s facing life with both feet on the ground.

At one point he drifts awake to feel Scorpius press a gentle kiss to his shoulder where he has a scar in the vague shape of a pair of feathered wings, and he remembers what his dad said earlier. He’s free. The future is his to make. And here he is, making it his way, with the people he loves by his side, just the way he’s always wanted to.

THE END


End file.
